Shaun of the Dead: Vacancy
by NCTibby
Summary: Despite being haunted by former flames, Shaun and his new girlfriend Emma are looking forward to a quiet weekend in the country. But someone, or something, has other plans for the happy couple. Sequel to Shaun of the Dead: Red Shaun.
1. Moving On

**Disclaimer: Well, here I am, back at it again. Since my earlier story did big money at the virtual box office (just go with me on this), it was only natural to do a sequel. And thus I give you _Shaun of the Dead: Vacancy_.**

**As always, major props to Simon Pegg and Edgar Wright, to whom the _Shaun of the Dead_ characters belong. Even bigger props to my fellow PeggLeggs in the US and the UK for their continued support and encouragement, dedicated webmasters Thomas and Harmony of the Frostitution dot Net and Peggster dot Net websites respectively, a special thank you to Nic for her story ideas, and a special dedication to Joss Whedon just because.**

Underneath the extravagant official seal, the words on the white linen paper read as follows:

"Dear Relative/Friend/Colleague,

We regret to inform that you that Sara Elena Cross unexpectedly perished in a plane crash in a remote part of the Austrian Alps. As per her wishes, she was cremated, and her ashes scattered over the Mississippi River so that she might finally return home and find peace. We trust that you enjoyed being related to / being friends with / working with Miss Cross, and we ask that you would consider making donations in her name to the following charities…"

Shaun sighed heavily and rubbed his tired eyes. He'd read the letter a thousand times since receiving it a month earlier, but it still didn't seem real. He'd even rung Sara's supervisor at the Council, Michael Simmonds, to see if there had been some horrible mistake. But Michael merely confirmed the letter's contents in his usual stoic manner.

"Shaun, I'm off!" a cheerful female voice called from downstairs.

"Yeah, just a minute!" he responded. He folded the letter up and gently placed it back in the depths of a desk drawer. As he headed downstairs, he saw Emma's face turned up to him, smiling as she stood in the foyer buttoning her coat. Dark blond hair framed her oval face and large green eyes, and her petite frame was almost swallowed up by the fur-trimmed jacket.

"What's wrong?" she asked softly as he met her on the landing and headed for the kitchen.

"Nothing," he said dismissively, starting to make a cup of tea.

"You haven't changed your mind, have you?" she insisted, following him.

"No, of course not."

"Good, because I think this holiday is going to be really, really good for us." She put her arms around him, entwining her fingers behind his neck.

"I agree. Totally."

"We've both been working so hard lately, we haven't had time for each other. I mean, it's been almost three months and I feel like I hardly know you."

"Well, there's not that much there, Em. I think three months is more than sufficient."

"Shaun, sometimes you are so annoyingly self-deprecating."

"But that's one of my charms," he boasted with a smug smile.

"One of many," she agreed, kissing him. "And I fully intend to discover all of them this weekend." She walked away toward the door, picking up her handbag. "Don't forget to set the tape for _Coronation Street_."

"I was gonna'."

"And don't forget to stop in at the store on your way home."

"I wasn't gonna'."

"Bye, sweetie!"

"Bye!" As the front door closed, Shaun sighed and turned his attention back to the process of making tea.

Meanwhile at the Eden River Inn in the Lake District's Eden Valley, the hotel's staff was attempting to deal with the exuberant members of the Matecheck/Moran wedding party. The attendees of the pre-bachelorette party brunch were quickly going through the prepared supply of mimosas, and so Tara was ordered to go to the cellar and fetch two more bottles of champagne.

Tara paused in the doorway and slowly inhaled. She hated going to the cellar. The cavernous room redefined her perceptions of dark and creepy, but lately it felt even more foreboding. She stepped into the room lined with racks of bottles and breathed in the chilled, musty air. Just get the bottles and go, she thought to herself.

She strode quickly across the room to the champagne rack, grabbed two bottles and turned to head back toward the door. But something stopped her. She felt another presence in the room, heard movement across the brick floor, smelled a faint stinging aroma of smoke. "Is anyone there?" she asked hesitantly, inwardly scolding herself for sounding like a horror movie damsel in distress. "I assure you, this isn't the least bit amusing," she declared with more forcefulness.

She continued to scan the room but saw nothing in the shadows. She shook her head at her own foolishness and started to stride quickly toward the door. But something struck out of the shadows, a sharp spike piercing her heart. The bottles fell to the floor and shattered. Tara sank to her knees in agony. She tried to cry out, but her throat could make no noise as blackness enveloped her.

After finishing up his shift at Foree Electric, Shaun was strolling the aisles of the Landis market, stocking up on supplies for their trip to the Lake District. As he absent-mindedly reached for the freezer door to grab a Diet Coke, his hand collided with another hand reaching for the door handle. He looked up to see an embarrassed blond woman retract her hand.

"Liz?" he muttered in disbelief.

"Shaun?" she blurted with a pleasant smile. "Wow, it is you! Fancy meeting you here. How have you been?"

"Surviving," he replied with a casual shrug.

"That's great. I'm really glad to hear it. I feel like I haven't seen you in ages. Tell me what you've been up to."

"Um, work's going really well. I'm seeing someone new. We're headed out to the Lake Country for the weekend."

"You're taking your girlfriend on holiday? Well, that's…that's progress."

"Let's just say, I did learn a few things from our relationship, Liz."

"I didn't mean it like that," she apologized. "Shaun, I know that things ended rather badly for us. But I don't think it was fair to either of us to stay in a relationship that wasn't working."

"No, you're right. I mean, we've both had some time and some distance to deal with things. I don't want you to feel like I resent you or anything. There's no reason we can't still, y'know, talk to each other."

"I'm so glad to hear you say that, Shaun. We did have some good times together, didn't we? Like that time in Skala?"

"Oh, yeah. When you kept harassing some off-duty police officer thinking he was the club DJ? And I wasn't sure I had enough money in traveler's checks for your bail."

"I firmly believed that you would be there to bail me out," she stated. She looked him in the eyes, then looked away with a stifled laugh and tucked her hair behind her right ear. "Y'know, there's something I've been wanting to ask you. I just wasn't sure how to phrase it, and I'm a bit afraid of what you'll say."

Shaun felt his heart start to beat a little faster but struggled to maintain nonchalance. "Liz, what is it?"

"I've met someone, and I'm getting married later this year. It would really mean a lot to me if you could be there."

Shaun struggled to catch his breath and find the words. "Yes, absolutely. Emma and I will be glad to be there," he stammered, putting an exaggerated stress on the name "Emma."

Liz smiled, seeming to be sincerely happy. "Good. I look forward to meeting her. Oh, let me introduce you to my fiancé. Neil!" She called to a tall man in the next aisle over.

The muscular blond strolled up to Liz's side and affectionately put his arm around her waist and flashed a blindingly white smile at Shaun. For a split second, Shaun knew what David must have felt like facing Goliath. "Who's this, then?" he asked in a distinctly Australian accent.

"Neil, this is Shaun. An old friend of mine. Shaun, this is Neil, my fiancé."

"Pleased to meet you, mate," Neil greeted, offering a surprisingly firm handshake. "Did she browbeat you into coming to the wedding? I'm telling you, our guest list is growing exponentially. I am _not_ looking forward to the catering bill."

"No, no, I would expect not," Shaun muttered. "So how did you two meet?"

"Neil's a lecturer at the college. The world's foremost authority on Russian tsarist history," Liz beamed.

"Nah, I'm sure there's some bloke over in Moscow who might know more than me," Neil countered.

"So that whole policy against dating co-workers," Shaun began, "that was just, uh…a suggestion."

"Well, at first Liz was very adamant that she didn't want to date a colleague. Luckily, my charm and a bottle of Galliano wore her down," Neil boasted.

Shaun laughed shallowly. "Well, you're probably half right."

"Look, you're preparing for your trip," Liz interrupted, "so we'll let you get back to shopping. I'll talk to you later, okay?" she asked in a conciliatory tone accompanied by somewhat pleading eyes.

Shaun's bitterness suddenly lessened. "Yeah, sure. Congratulations to you both."

As he watched the two of them continue down the aisle, he barely perceived the words of the song being piped through the store's muzak system.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Shaun groaned as the realization dawned on him that Hall and Oates' "Sara Smile" was now filling every corner of the store. He wearily rested his forehead on the freezer door and fervently prayed that he would be able to escape the ghosts of ex-girlfriends past for the next three days.


	2. Arrivals

**DISCLAIMER: Still with me? Cool. All _Shaun of the Dead_ characters belong to Simon Pegg and Edgar Wright. **

Evelyn, the innkeeper at the Eden River Inn, was trying to organize and prepare for the weekend's new arrivals. She was an imposing figure, impeccably dressed and still strikingly beautiful for her age (which, depending on her mood, wavered between late 30s and early 40s). The inn had always been her passion; the day her husband left her, it became her only passion. And she was growing increasingly intolerant of her careless staff members who were unwilling to show the same level of dedication.

Michelle strolled up to the front desk and addressed Evelyn. "You wanted to see me, ma'am?"

"Yes, Michelle, I'm going to need you to work a double shift tonight," Evelyn said, flipping through a stack of messages.

"You what?"

"Tara went missing this morning and I'm going to need you to pick up the slack."

"But I have plans."

"Cancel them. We've still got the wedding party to deal with, plus new people coming in for the weekend. I need all the help I can get."

"Yeah, okay," Michelle acquiesced. "Did Tara say where she was going?"

"I sent her for some more champagne during a very busy brunch this morning and she vanished."

"But that's not like Tara."

"Isn't it, though?"

"I'm just saying, if she were going to leave she would have asked me to cover her shift or something."

"Michelle, don't worry about it. If she's still missing tomorrow, I'll inform the police. For now, I need you to help with the preparations for dinner."

"Yes, ma'am."

Michelle disappeared into the kitchen, and Evelyn turned her attention to the couple walking through the front door. "Hello, and welcome to the Eden River Inn."

"Hi," greeted the ginger-haired gentleman struggling with the luggage while his female companion looked around, taking in the details of the old country house. "I'm Shaun Riley, I have a reservation."

"Yes, Mr. Riley. We're so glad to have you here. If you'll just sign the hotel registry, I'll get your key." Shaun signed the book while Evelyn turned to the rack of keys on the wall behind her. "Room 23 is all ready for you."

"Thanks very much," he smiled, taking the key.

"Enjoy your stay," she added.

"We'll try." He picked up the bags again and the couple headed upstairs. Evelyn, out of an automatic curious reflex, glanced at the hotel registry to find his signature and read the words "Mr. and Mrs. Anakin Skywalker." She chuckled and shook her head. Yet another hotel guest unwilling to give their real name. That was fine, she thought, as long as their checks went through.

Up in Room 23, Shaun started to unpack while Emma explored the room.

"Oh, the bathroom is gorgeous, Shaun," she enthused. "And have you seen the view from the window? Look at those gardens!"

"I'm glad you like it," he said.

"I love it! I'm so glad I convinced you to bring me here!" She dug through her messenger bag for her digital camera. "I think I'm gonna' go do some wandering, check out the local flora and fauna before dinner. Will you be okay here?"

"Yeah. I'll finish unpacking, take a shower and get changed for dinner."

"Sounds like a plan." She gave him a quick kiss on the way out the door.

After his shower, Shaun wrapped a towel around his waist and used another towel to dry his hair, draping the second towel around his shoulders. As he was hanging some shirts in the closet, he heard a sound coming from the door, as if someone was trying to unlock it. He looked over to the dresser and saw the key that he'd been given at the front desk laying on its highly polished wooden surface, realizing that it was not Emma trying to get in.

As the door unlocked and slowly opened, Shaun jumped into the closet and pulled the sliding door closed, leaving just enough space to observe whomever was breaking and entering. He heard the door close and a female figure dressed in black crossed his line of sight, moving slowly and cautiously. She peeked into the open bathroom first, then proceeded further into the room.

Defensive instincts that he hadn't used in a long time suddenly awoke in Shaun and he knew he had to subdue this person and find out why they were in his room. The only weapons at hand were a clothes hanger and the towel around his neck. He quietly slid the door open and grabbed the towel tightly, an end in each hand, ready to place it around the neck of the intruder.

But as he readied himself to attack the woman, she sensed his presence behind him, ducked and thrust her elbow into his stomach. He doubled over in pain and loss of breath. She took hold of his right arm and flung him to the ground. Planting her right knee firmly on his chest, she deftly swung a crossbow off her shoulder and pointed it at his throat.

Shaun looked from the very sharp tip of the arrow in the crossbow, along the length of the arm holding it, up the neck and found himself looking into the face of a dead woman.

"Sara?" he whispered in disbelief.

"Shaun?" she spoke softly, her brown eyes wide with surprise.

An anxious, breathless moment of silence passed between them before she declared in a shaky voice, "You're not supposed to be here."

"Neither are you."

Her eyes narrowed as she focused on his face. "Is it really you, Shaun?"

"Yes it is. Now would you mind pointing that somewhere other than my neck?" He nervously gestured to move the tip of the arrow away from his jugular.

"Yeah, sorry. My bad." She lowered the crossbow and removed her knee from his chest to stand and carefully scan the room. There were clothes strewn about, some of them obviously feminine. She was guessing he hadn't taken up cross-dressing. "Are you here with someone?"

"Yes," he replied, struggling to his feet. "My girlfriend."

"Well, this is…unexpected," she sighed, placing the crossbow on the dresser's highly polished wooden surface. She leaned against the dresser and glanced at Shaun, taking in his look of shock and amazement. "Why are you looking at me like that? It's the hair, isn't it? It makes me look stupid?" she asked, referring to the new black, shoulder-length straight hair that she was sporting.

"No, it's just…you're dead."

"Um, no. Still alive and kicking, so to speak," she smiled, making a conscious effort to look him in the face and not let her eyes linger on his exposed chest and arms.

"I got a letter from the Council telling me that you'd died," he explained.

"Oh, _that_? I'd almost forgotten. You see, while on a mission, I happened to kill a Geldfuhrung, a channeler demon."

"Channeler? Like they talk to dead people?"

"No, channeler like they handle money for the Russian mafia, diverting funds to extremist groups in Chechnya, Somalia, wherever there's a buck to be made on a power struggle. Anyway, the Russians didn't take too kindly to losing one of their best demons, so they sent every assassin between here and Houston after me. The Council decided that the only way to keep me alive was to kill me. Well, actually they decided to kill Sara Cross and have me take on the new identity of Helen Wellesley."

"Okay…" Shaun said slowly.

She crossed her arms and tilted her head in confusion. "They sent you a letter?"

"A form letter."

"A form letter! My God, my parents must be freaking out right now."

"I think I might join them."

"Look, I'm really sorry that things worked out this way. I never meant to hurt you, Shaun. But it certainly looks as if you got over it," she observed with subdued resentment, making a sweeping gesture across the room. "Met someone else, decided to take them on a romantic mini-break. At least now I know why you never wrote me back."

"Wrote you back? How could I write you? I had no idea how to get in touch with you."

"Maybe you could have checked the return address on all the letters I sent you?"

"I never got any letters," he protested.

Sara paused and considered. "No. No, of course you didn't. Those Council bastards must have censored my mail."

"You couldn't call or send an email or something?"

"I was in a remote part of Hungary, Shaun. They don't exactly have hi-speed modems out there. Broadband kinda' takes a backseat to finding food, shelter, and living through the night when there are vicious werewolves after you," she snapped.

A few more anxious moments passed between them without a word, neither of them eager to make eye contact. Shaun put his hands on his hips. "So are you gonna' tell me why you're here?" he asked.

"I was following up a lead. I guess I got the wrong room."

"I mean, why are you here at this hotel? I'd like to know if there's an apocalypse coming up."

"Oh, there's no apocalypse. Don't be so melodramatic."

"Call me crazy, but you and cataclysmic disasters seem to go hand in hand."

"Well, you can rest easy, Shaun. In fact, I'll revise my mission, shall I? I will do everything in my power to not let anything interrupt this splendid good time that you now seem to be having."

"Save the sarcasm, Sara. You're not gonna' make me feel guilty about spending a romantic weekend with my girlfriend. Because that's what normal people in a normal relationship do, okay?"

She looked at him and shook her head. "You know, I'm glad I meant so much to you, I'm glad that you were so devastated by my death…"

"Hey, you chose to leave, all right? What was I supposed to do?"

"You could have waited for me," she huffed in a petulant tone.

"As I recall, you didn't know if you were coming back," he reminded.

"Of course I would have come back. You knew I would have come back."

"How, Sara? You're not exactly predictable or reliable."

"And I suppose she is?" she inquired, gesturing at Emma's clothing laid out on the bed.

"Yes, she is," Shaun declared with crossed arms.

Sara focused her gaze on the floor, trying to keep her conflicting emotions in check. "Well, I'm glad," she muttered.

"I'm happy you're glad," he sarcastically retorted.

"And I'm glad you're happy."

"Yeah, well, I'm gladder."

"You know what? Fine. Best wishes to you and your lovely new girlfriend, Shaun. I wonder how long it'll be till this one sucks the life out of you," she hissed. She picked up her crossbow and headed for the door. "It was _not_ nice seeing you again."

"Yeah, well, you're not nice, either!" he blurted.

He hadn't meant to say it that way, and he instantly regretted it when she turned on him with a look that would wither the healthiest of plants. She seemed about to respond but thought better of it and merely slammed the door behind her, leaving Shaun alone in the empty room.


	3. Parting Shots

**DISCLAIMER: Was that not a weird Academy Awards ceremony this year? Microphone goofs, people being given their awards in the aisles instead of onstage, bangs and crashes during scene changes, Sean Penn getting all huffy when Chris Rock made a joke about Jude Law. It was like a high school talent show, only with much more expensive outfits. Highlight of the evening: Colin Mochrie in a tutu as the Snack Fairy. I loves me some Canadian improvisational comedians.**

**As always, all _Shaun of the Dead_ characters belong to Simon Pegg and Edgar Wright.**

After a fine, four-course dinner in the hotel's restaurant, Shaun and Emma headed back upstairs to their room.

"That was some of the best duck a l'orange I've ever had," Emma gushed, twirling onto the bed and kicking off her shoes.

"It was certainly worth every penny," Shaun mused, inwardly wincing at the thought of the cumulative bill for the weekend as he stood at the mirror loosening his tie. While they'd been dating, he was aware of Emma's taste toward the finer things; he just didn't realize that being on a mini-break would exponentially increase the cost of those finer things.

"You all right, Shaun? You were very quiet during dinner." She came up behind him, placing her hands around his waist and her chin on his shoulder. "Is there something you want to talk about?"

Of course, he thought, wanting to talk about something would certainly have caused him to be quiet. His head was still spinning from his earlier encounter with Sara, and he certainly wasn't about to mention it to Emma. He needed time to process, figure out what all this meant, if it meant anything. Based on his experience, having a slayer in the near vicinity was never a good thing. Especially when it was this particular slayer.

"Then again, we don't have to talk," she purred in his ear. "It is getting near bedtime, isn't it?"

"Actually, Em, I'm wide awake," he said, gently extracting himself from her embrace. "I think I'm gonna' go downstairs to the bar and play a few rounds of pool."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. It's been a really long day. Why don't you get some rest and I'll be back before you know it," he suggested, moving quickly toward the door.

"Okay. Bye!" she called as he closed the door behind him.

Meanwhile, Sara walked purposefully into the Council's makeshift war-room in one of the ground floor rooms of the inn and slammed the door, tossing her crossbow on the bed. Her handler Julian looked up from his desk. "Ah, Sara, how did it go?" he asked cheerily.

She said nothing as she walked up to him. Grabbing him roughly by the collar to pull him out of the chair, she slammed him against the wall and placed her hand on his throat. "Why is he here?" she demanded.

"Who?"

"Shaun Riley—why is he here?"

"I have no idea who you're talking about…" he stammered with some difficulty.

"He is a former Council operative. Do you expect me to believe it's just a coincidence that he's here at the same time as me?"

"Sara, I assure you, I don't know this Shaun. And if I did, I would have told you. I'd never willingly do something to upset you."

She stared into his eyes, trying to determine whether he was lying. Finally she released her grip on his throat. "I'm not upset," she declared.

"Yeah, well, tell that to my trachea," he said, rubbing his bruised throat. He resumed his seat at the desk.

She turned away from Julian and crossed the room as he buried his nose in paperwork again. Considering him from her perch on an armchair, she realized that her new handler could be described as having a vaguely rat-like appearance. That is, if the rat were handsome with a strong brow, penetrating eyes, and an irresistible smile. Of course, Sara never saw him that way. She saw him as an uptight prat from Manchester sent down to give her orders.

"Where did you see this Shaun?" he asked her.

"He was in Room 23. He and his new girlfriend are staying in that room," she replied, her voice dripping with contempt.

"So that's another dead end, I gather."

"I would say so."

"But all the other guests have been accounted for. Are you sure there wasn't a Greek shaman staying in that room?"

"Pretty sure," Sara confirmed. "So where do we stand?"

"Three disappearances in this area in as many weeks. No visible connection between the victims, no ransom demands, and no bodies as of yet. I'm beginning to think we should just pack up and leave this to the local police. Whatever psychic disturbance they wanted us to investigate, there's no evidence of a connection." He continued to shift through papers. "This Shaun Riley, he used to work for the Council?"

"Briefly, during the time of Davrok Sakkari's attempt at the apocalypse."

"And you worked with him?"

"You could say that," she said nonchalantly, trying to evade the details that had come rushing back to her in the aftermath of meeting up with Shaun again. Suddenly, she jumped to her feet and went for the door again. "I'm going out."

"Again? Why?"

"You wanted me to do recon, remember?"

"Sara, if you're saying that you're doing recon in order to cover the fact that you're going to seek out Shaun again," he said slowly, "then I'd rather not know."

"Good. I'd rather not tell you," she remarked, closing the door behind her.

In the cozy, smoky bar of the Eden River Inn, Shaun lined up the pool cue, carefully taking aim at the three ball with the full intention of sinking it in the corner pocket.

"Still endangering innocent bystanders?" a familiar voice interrupted from the doorway.

"I'll have you know my game is greatly improved since you left," he replied without looking up.

"Had a lot of free time to practice with your stick, have you?" Sara walked up beside him at the table, casually swirling a glass of dark liquid in her hand and leaned in close enough that he could smell her perfume. "If you're going after the three, you're using the wrong approach. You should slide your angle of attack a little to the right."

He threw her a sideways glance and huffed impatiently. Then he took the shot, watching sadly as the cue ball succeeded in missing every ball on the table.

"Nice shot," she observed.

He straightened up to face her. "Yeah, well, you distracted me."

"Really?" she gasped in mock surprise. "I didn't think I could still do that." She placed her drink on the table, turned and walked toward the other pool cues on the wall.

"It was just a…a momentary lapse of concentration," he said dismissively.

"Think you can concentrate long enough for a game of nine-ball?" she asked.

"Fine. Rack 'em up."

Sara placed the rack on the table and then arranged the balls within it. "So…what's her name?" she inquired with forced friendliness.

"Her name is Emma."

"What's she like?" she asked, in a more condescending tone than she intended, as she removed the rack with a flourish. "Gentleman breaks, by the way."

"Thank you," he said, taking aim at the cluster of balls and then sending the cue ball hurtling towards them. They scattered but none of them headed for a pocket. "She's nice."

"Nice," she repeated. "How did you meet her?"

"I'd rather not say."

She looked at him with feigned sympathy. "Oh, Shaun, she's not a Russian mail order bride, is she?"

"No," he insisted with an exasperated pout.

She'd forgotten how much she adored that expression on his face. "Is she a high-priced escort provided to all Foree Electric Senior Sales Managers?" she continued.

"No. Sara, I realize it's hard for you to believe that I could meet someone in the course of everyday life when there isn't a zombie or vampire invasion going on, but it did happen."

"Okaaay. Sense of humor was obviously the first casualty of your 'normal' relationship," she muttered, taking another sip of her drink. "So how long have you been together?"

"Three months now."

"Three months? And she's still just…nice?" Sara leaned over the table, lining up the pool cue for a shot.

"Emma is kind and loyal and honest," Shaun proclaimed. "I trust her, she makes me happy."

"Is she a woman or a Springer Spaniel?" she quipped. She took the shot but missed. Straightening up to face Shaun, she shrugged and said with a weak smile, "Guess I'm off my game."

"What do you want, Sara?" he asked impatiently.

"I'm just trying to make conversation."

"Well, I'm sorry but it's a bit awkward to make conversation with a dead woman."

"I thought we already covered that," she sighed.

"Not to my satisfaction." He placed his pool cue down on the table and faced her. "You want to come back here and pretend that everything is hunky-dory? Well, it's not. You left me. And more important than that, you died!"

"I didn't exactly have a choice!" she protested.

"No, you made your choice when you got on that plane to Hungary all those months ago," he stated. "Look, it was really hard for me to come to terms with your absence and your subsequent death, but I did. You are a chapter in my life that is closed, all right? Now if you'll excuse me, I am going to go upstairs and get into bed with my girlfriend." He turned and walked out of the bar.

Sara was left alone, staring into the green felt surface of the table, till a waiter approached her. "Would you like another drink, ma'am?" he asked her.

"Yes," she answered softly. "And make it a double."


	4. Ghosts

**DISCLAIMER: All _Shaun of the Dead_ characters belong to Simon Pegg and Edgar Wright. This one's a Sara-centric episode. Well, it had to be done eventually. And the homage to _An American Werewolf in London_? Yeah, that also had to be done eventually…**

Sara dejectedly, and a bit drunkenly, returned to her room and got ready for bed. The multiple doses of bourbon were proving to be an effective cure for her continual insomnia, but the nightmares still troubled her. She couldn't even seek solace in the memory of Shaun's kiss outside a Brixton warehouse anymore, as had been her usual custom; that safe haven had now been condemned and torn down.

After a few more hours of restless tossing and turning, her eyes slowly opened as she was pulled reluctantly into consciousness. She glanced at the clock to read "3:31" through blurry eyes. Still wavering between being asleep and being awake, she thought she felt another presence in the room but couldn't see or hear anything. She focused on the French doors leading to the patio. There was an outline of a shape there, something darker than the night outside. She hesitantly reached over to turn on the lamp.

"Hello, Sara."

"Oh, my God!" she cried, nearly jumping out of the bed and slamming up against the headboard.

Seated in the chair was her former handler Will. Her deceased former handler. His skin was grey and gaunt, his bones almost visible through thinning skin, blood staining the suit she'd last seen him in. "How? Why? How?" she stammered, clutching the headboard.

"Three very good questions," he noted in his posh voice. "But the better question is why couldn't I have decided to haunt you on a night when you were in a sexy negligee instead of your flannel sheep pajamas."

"Hey, stop looking at my sleepwear," she scolded. "Stop being here, full stop."

"Believe me, I'd rather not be here."

"No, no, no. This isn't real." She edged herself off the bed to the other side of the room, trying to put space between herself and the apparition. "You're not here."

"I'm afraid I am."

"You can't be here. Because if you're here, then I've officially gone crazy. So deal with it, you're not here." She opened the mini-fridge and rummaged through its contents.

"Then I'll just have to assume no one informed that you are currently staying in one of the most haunted hotels in the country. You've got to expect a certain level of paranormal activity. By the way, what are you doing?"

"Looking for tranquilizers. Or booze. Either will do at this point."

"Aren't you happy to see me at all? Sara, you're hurting my feelings." He rose from the chair and came to stand beside her.

"You don't have feelings. You're not even corporeal."

He smacked the back of her head.

"Ow!" she cried, straightening up to face him. "Whatever happened to friendly ghosts?"

"I am in death as I was in life," he replied with a shrug.

She just stared at him, trying to discern whether he was really there or a product of too much bourbon. "Okay, wait, this is getting way too John Landis for me. I am going to go crawl under the covers, and when I remove the covers, you won't be here."

"I might."

"What do you mean 'you might'? Look, just go back to heaven or purgatory or your box in the ground and leave me alone."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"You summoned me."

"I didn't summon you," she countered.

"You did. Something in your subconscious has caused me to appear to you. A sense of guilt, or longing, or…"

"Now listen, Will, or whatever you are, I'm nursing a hangover, my heart has been ripped out and stomped on, and my ego has taken a fairly brutal beating. I'm not in the mood to be psychoanalyzed by a piece of ectoplasm."

Will began laughing and took a seat on the edge of the bed.

"What? Why are you laughing?"

"I had forgotten that you talk like that, 24/7, drunk or sober."

"Like what?"

"Like a hyperactive, overeducated American."

"Hey, I have had enough insults for one day," she groaned, sliding back under the covers. "Thanks for stopping by. Now please go away."

He paused in contemplation and turned to her. "You feel guilty that you couldn't save me."

"What?"

"It's the truth, Sara. And whether you're ready to do so or not, you have to confront the guilt that you felt about your inability to save me."

"Of course I couldn't save you. I mean, I was all the way across town, and you…" Memories of that night, of finding his body in a pool of blood on the floor of Malcolm Ryland's flat came flooding back. How she'd felt completely helpless and useless. "You went into a suspect's house completely unarmed. Why would you do that?" she demanded with a flash of anger.

"There's nothing you could have done," he insisted softly.

"If you had just waited a few more hours…"

"There's nothing you could have done."

She shook her head, fighting back the tears. "I'm sorry, Will. I'm so sorry I couldn't save you."

"What's done is done. But there are people now who need your help."

"I don't know if I can do this anymore. I'm so tired of losing the people that I love."

"You're scared you won't be able to save Shaun?" he suggested.

"Oh, please! Shaun is not my concern anymore," she proclaimed, escaping from the bed again and going to look out the French doors.

"He'll always be your concern."

"Someone else has that very special privilege of being concerned now, Will. I need to forget about him. The same way that he forgot about me."

"But you won't because you're stubborn…"

"No, I'm not."

"And you can't because you love him..."

"Yeah, fat lot of good that did me," she sighed, snatching a packet of peanuts from the mini-fridge.

"Sara, I spent years as your handler. It was my job to know your strengths and weaknesses. Getting over a broken heart was never one of your strengths."

She paused and considered. "Do you think it's possible that this new girlfriend of his could, y'know, be a threat to human existence or something?"

"I highly doubt it."

"I guess you're right," she conceded. "Still, she has way more pink in her wardrobe than any normal girl should have. It seems very suspicious."

"Sara, you have a job to do here. You need to focus."

"I'm focused. Totally." She sat beside him on the edge of the bed. "But when I saw him again…he was shirtless, Will. I've never seen him shirtless. I didn't know he looked that good shirtless." She gave a frustrated sigh and fell back onto the bed.

"You're losing focus…"

"Forearms, Will. Have you seen the man's forearms?"

"Forget the forearms."

"Okay. Okay, I'm focused," she asserted, sitting up. "You're right, I need to stop being stupid and childish. Emma can have Shaun. She can deal with his insecurities and his hero complex and his slacker tendencies. They're all hers to enjoy, because I'm over him."

"No, you're not."

"Yes, I am. All the months that I wasted thinking about him, it's through. It's over. I'm not gonna' think about him anymore, ever again."

"Yes, you will."

She chucked an unsalted peanut at his decaying skull. "You know, this would be easier if you'd stop contradicting me."

"I'm just telling you the truth."

They sat there together in silence, the downtrodden slayer and her deceased handler. She really, really didn't want to cry. It was pointless, it wouldn't change anything, but the tears came unbidden and she was tired of fighting them. "This isn't going to stop hurting, is it?" she pleaded.

"It will, Sara, I promise," he consoled, putting his arm around her as she wept. "Just give it time."

The next thing Sara knew, sunlight was assaulting her eyes and forcing her awake.

"Rise and shine!" Julian said far too happily, throwing open the curtains in her room. With blurry eyes, she scanned the room but found that she and Julian were the only occupants. Last night must have been a dream, she concluded. But it seemed so real.

"How's my favorite slayer this morning?" Julian continued.

Sara responded by placing a pillow over her head. "Your favorite slayer is not a morning person," she groaned from underneath the pillow. "Didn't you get that memo?"

"Yes, it's all there in your dossier. Right underneath your long-standing obsession with the Powerpuff Girls."

"What?" she snapped, sitting up.

"Just trying to get your attention," he said with a smile. "Look, you've slept long enough. It's time to get back to work." He scanned the room, noticing empty bottles from the mini-fridge, empty snack wrappers, and crumpled tissues on the floor. "Sara, have you been crying?" he asked, observing her red-rimmed eyes.

"No," she answered abruptly. "I just…it's allergies. English country air doesn't agree with me."

"Well, get up, get dressed, we have an appointment with the local CID."

"For what?"

"Morning meeting at the morgue. We managed to track down a body."

"Good thing I wasn't planning on eating breakfast."

Julian was on his way out the door when he stopped and turned back to her. "Sara, are you sure you're okay?"

"Well, considering I just had to say goodbye to my last hope for a happy and normal life, I'm pretty good," she replied. "I'll meet you downstairs in fifteen."

Minutes later, Sara joined Julian at his car, and they drove to the nearest police station in the city of Penrith. On the journey, Julian relayed the news that their supervisor at the Council, Michael Simmonds, had been in touch with a Detective Ashford and that they were supposed to meet with her to discuss the case. They pulled into the parking lot and asked after the detective chief inspector at the front desk. The woman who greeted them was a slender, well-dressed brunette with sharp eyes and sharper cheekbones.

"Detective Ashford, I'm Julian West. This is my colleague, Helen Wellesley. Thanks so much for taking the time to meet with us," Julian greeted.

"No problem," she said with a warm smile. "Michael Simmonds is an old friend. I'm hoping that maybe you two can help us shed some light on this mystery."

The detective led them down a series of stairs and corridors to the morgue. As they stood around the body, Ashford issued the disclaimer, "Remember, this is strictly off the record. If my boss knew I was consulting with some sort of occult investigators…"

"We assure you, we'll be discreet, Detective Ashford," Julian offered. "We're only here to help in whatever way we can."

The detective nodded, seemingly satisfied. She then pulled the sheet back to reveal the body. It was a mass of twisting bones and wrinkled, discolored skin. Sara was briefly reminded of something she'd seen on _The X-Files_.

"She was found in the woods?" Julian asked, glancing at the victim's file.

"By a jogger yesterday afternoon."

"Cause of death?"

"That's the mystery. Given the state of the body, we can't even pinpoint a time of death. Dental records were the only way to make a positive ID."

"Fingerprints or blood samples weren't an option?" Sara asked.

"There's no blood left in the body."

Julian and Sara exchanged glances.

"No viable fingerprints, either," Ashford continued. "As you can see, there's extreme necrosis of the skin and internal organs. It's almost as if she were mummified, as if every ounce of moisture was drained out of her."

"And there's only one external wound?" Sara inquired, examining the neck out of instinct. "The puncture in the chest?"

"Yes. Judging by the trajectory, it was a straight-on shot to the heart."

"Possible weapon?"

"Well, the wound is circular with a clean edge. Doesn't match a knife or a blade of any kind. Whoever it was had almost surgical precision."

"What about the other missing persons?" Julian asked.

"We're making a thorough search of the woods but nothing's turned up yet."

"Have you discovered any connection between the victims?"

"They've all been young and female. That's about it. Different physical appearances, different lifestyles. We're finding it very difficult to work up a profile on this one."

"You said you'd made an ID. Was she a local?" Sara asked.

"No, a tourist. We get a lot of those this time of year. We checked all the nearby hotel registries. Up until her death, she was a guest at the Eden River Inn."

"The woman who most recently disappeared, she was an employee at the inn," Julian explained.

"Mr. West, I'm well aware of the stories about that inn. But I highly doubt that some local ghosts are responsible for killing this woman."

"Two out of three of the missing women were connected to the inn, Detective Ashford," Sara noted. "Are you planning to wait around for three out of four?"

The detective gave her a stern look. "I'm planning to follow the physical evidence, Miss Wellesley. Until you bring me a signed confession from one of these spirits, I'm afraid that's the best I can do."

Julian and Sara departed the police station, got into Julian's car and began the trip back to the inn.

"So where do we go from here?" she asked.

"We need a complete history of the Eden River Inn. The building and the site itself. We're looking for pagan burial grounds, past paranormal experiences, any incidences of violence."

"We're looking for a ghost?"

"Ghosts don't cause physical harm, Sara."

"There's plenty of evidence to the contrary."

"Like what?"

"_Poltergeist_, _Ghostbusters_, _The Grudge_."

"Anything you didn't see at the cinema?"

"No, not as such."

"When we get back to the hotel, I'll get in touch with the Council, have Nicola go through the archives. I want you to do a thorough survey of the building, talk to employees, regular visitors, anyone that might know anything about the inn's history."

"I'm on it."

"Anyone other than the couple in Room 23," Julian added.

"Well, duh," Sara responded eloquently.


	5. Surveying the Scene

**DISCLAIMER: So I was kind of excited about the upcoming _Fantastic Four_ movie, but then I started hearing about the reshoots and changing the release date and yada yada yada. But let's face it, I'm powerless to resist the chiseled cheekbones of Ioan Gruffudd. Powerless, I tells ya'. But my excitement about the upcoming _Sin City_ and _Batman Begins_ remain undiminished, if not increased. **

**The _Shaun of the Dead_ characters belong to Simon Pegg and Edgar Wright. I don't own them andnever will...**

Emma had woken Shaun up bright and early to go explore the Cumbria countryside. Their first stop was in the city of Penrith. Shaun was quite happy with window shopping, but Emma preferred the more traditional form of shopping that involved exchanging currency for goods. Then they made a stop at the Dalemain House and Gardens, inquiring about other nearby National Trust properties. Shaun didn't mind looking at old buildings (even if it did make him feel a bit like Liz's ill-fated flatmate David), he just hoped to make it through the weekend without having to row a boat on the River Eden and recite poetry.

Meanwhile, Julian sat down to have a conversation with Evelyn, the innkeeper, in the dining room that was making the transition from breakfast to lunch with the help of scurrying employees.

"Thank you for taking the time to speak with me, Misses—"

"It's _Miss_ Fairfax. I'm recently divorced."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Not as sorry as my ex-husband will be when he gets the alimony bill."

"Right. Well, we're trying to find out more about some disappearances in this area. What can you tell me about Tara Farrell?"

"Young woman, worked here for a couple of months. She disappeared Friday morning."

"Was she a reliable employee? Did she have a history of lateness or unexplained absences?"

"No more than anyone else here," she answered casually. "You know, there was a time when people were actually dedicated to their work. They appreciated the opportunity, and they fulfilled their obligations gladly."

"I'm sure that's true," he sighed, not in the mood for a lecture. "But did you have any reason to suspect that Tara would leave without an explanation?"

"I suspect she might have ditched work early to go on a long vacation. It happens all the time."

"Neither her family nor her friends have heard from her. Her parents have filed a missing persons report with the police, and this is the last place that she was seen alive."

"If you're trying to suggest I had something to do with her disappearance, you're not being very subtle about it."

Julian leaned in closer and focused his already intent gaze. "Miss Fairfax, the police just found the body of one of your former guests dumped in the woods nearby, and it seems highly likely that Tara is headed for the same fate. Which won't look very good on your hotel brochures and might open you up to a few civil suits. So I assure you, it would be in your best interest to cooperate with my inquiries."

Meanwhile, Sara was starting her survey of the inn with the attic and working her way downward. She felt a constant unease, as if she were being watched, and she suddenly wished Will had never told her that this was one of the most haunted hotels in the country. Vampires, demons, she was fine with those. But how did you fight a ghost?

She moved from the attic onto the third floor and slowly walked down the narrow hallway. One of the rooms nearest to her was open, and she could faintly hear water dripping from somewhere inside. She peeked inside the doorway but saw no one, guest or staff. This was a larger room than hers, some kind of high-dollar suite perhaps. To her left, she located the source of the dripping water sound.

The spacious bathroom looked immaculate. The marble flooring and counters gleamed. There was a mirror above a sunken bath. Water was dripping from the bathtub's tap, and the tub was full of murky water. She hesitantly leaned over to turn off the water. Every part of her body told her to walk away.

If there's some Japanese kid under this water, I'm so out of here, she thought. But she summoned her courage and tentatively reached toward the water to try to find the stopper somewhere in its depths. She gulped hard as her fingers touched the surface of the icy cold water.

"What you doing?"

"Aaiigghh!" Sara let out a sharp exclamation as a form appeared in the bathroom doorway. She looked up to see a young woman in uniform, waiting patiently for an explanation with crossed arms. Sara stood up to face her, somewhat embarrassedly, and adopted her best Scotland Yard accent. "Um, hi, yes, I'm with the police. D.S. Wellesley. We're investigating a series of disappearances in the area."

"I haven't seen any uniforms about."

"No, no. We're trying to keep our inquiries very discreet. Don't want to alarm the guests, do we?" she offered, with a forced laugh.

The woman regarded her with uncertainty but gradually seemed to accept the explanation. "Have you found Tara yet?"

"You know Tara Farrell?"

"Yeah. I got her the job here."

"When was the last time you saw her?"

"We went out for a drink Thursday night after work. But she went home early because she had to work the morning shift. When I came in at lunch, I didn't see her. Just figured she'd gone home early, sick or something."

"Was Tara someone likely to take off without telling anyone?"

"No. I didn't think anything of it till Miss Fairfax told me she'd disappeared during brunch and that she needed me to work a double shift. Tara would have asked me to cover her shift if she were planning to leave."

"I see. Well, thanks for your help…"

"Michelle."

"Michelle," Sara repeated. "Can I ask you something else?"

"What's that?"

"We've heard some rumors of…well, for lack of a better word, ghosts on the premises. Have you had any personal experiences?"

"Try everyday."

"Really?"

"Yeah. It was freaky at first, but you get used to it. No one's ever been hurt. Sometimes you just see or hear things that aren't there. Or the bathtub fills itself up," she groaned, matter-of-factly reaching into the water and releasing the stopper to let the water recede. "This is getting really annoying," she said to no one in particular.

A few hours later, Julian was in the midst of laying out masses of floorplans on a desk when Sara entered the war room.

"Find anything?" he asked.

"Not much, other than bad plumbing. How was Lady Fairfax?"

"Uncooperative. I've just been studying the hotel's structural drawings. This place has been renovated so many times, it's hard to tell where one part of the building ends and another begins."

"Why is that important?"

"Ghosts often appear at boundaries of time and space—walls, doors, anniversaries, midnight. It might help narrow down our search."

"But we still don't know what we're looking for."

"Which is why I put a call in to the Council Archives. Nicola's been researching the house. She's supposed to call as soon as she's got something."

As if on cue, the phone rang and Julian picked up the receiver.

"This is West," he answered formally. "Right, I'm here with Helen. Let me put you on speakerphone."

"Hiya, Nicster!" Sara greeted. Nicola had been recently transferred from the Paris branch when former librarian Lex had decided to retire. Sara viewed her as a friend and confidante, even if Nic didn't actually know her real name. Since the run-in with the Russian assassins, Sara had been restricted to the most remote field assignments and any contact with Council employees other than Julian or Michael was done under the name of Helen Wellesley. She was still having a difficult time answering to that name, though.

"Wellesley! What up?"

"I've been better."

"What's the problem?"

"Oh, I've just been bitch-slapped by life. As per usual."

"Don't mind her, Nic," Julian interrupted. "She's just upset that her former boyfriend moved on without her express written consent."

"I told you, I'm not upset," Sara insisted. "Oh, and please thank Michael for telling Shaun that I died."

"Wait, wait, is this THE Shaun?"

"The one and only."

"You've seen him!"

"Yep, he's shacked up here with his new girlfriend."

"You're kidding me!"

"Wish I were."

"Cheeky bastard! No respect for the dead…"

"I know!"

"I mean, who does this girl think she is? You saw him first."

"Unfortunately, that argument doesn't work after the age of five, Nic."

"Is he still dishy as ever?"

"I'm afraid so."

"Don't you hate that?"

"Very much."

"Ladies, could we please get back to the matter at hand?" Julian protested.

"I'll tell you later, Nic," Sara agreed.

"You better, you slag."

"What have you been able to find on the inn?"

"Run of the mill paranormal stuff really. Built in the 1600s, the house was originally a parsonage for the priests at the local church. It saw its share of brutal murders back in the day since it was near a crossroads frequented by several highwaymen. The ownership's changed hands quite a few times, lots of sections have been torn down or added on, and none of the proprietors tend to stick around for very long."

"Any identifiable entities?"

"We have three most frequently seen ghosts on the premises. One is an elderly woman in Victorian or Edwardian dress, hangs out in the attic. Next up is a man in a suit, he's been seen in the bar quite a few times by staff in the hotel's off-hours. Last, but most intriguing, is the woman in white. She seems to be confined to Room 34."

"I was in that room earlier today," Sara noted. "Very creepy vibe."

"I don't doubt it. A number of guests have said that a white apparition of a woman comes out of the mirror while they're in the bath. Sometimes they've woken up to find her sitting at the bottom of the bed, just watching them."

"But no history of violence?"

"Other than some harmless mischief of moving around objects, I don't see anything in the archives that raises a red flag."

"So we're back to square one," Julian sighed.

"On a completely different board," Sara remarked.

"The Council traced a major psychic disturbance to this hotel," he explained.

"Which could have been anything. And could be completely unrelated to these disappearances."

"I still think that it's a lead worth following up."

"And I still think it's not a ghost," Sara said. "While you look at your maps, I'm gonna' go chat up some more guests."

"As long as you find time to chat up Shaun," Nicola added.

"Don't encourage her, Nic," Julian groaned.


	6. Reservations

**DISCLAIMER: Folks, I promise I will write a short chapter one of these days. But this one isn't it, so thank you for your patience. The Sara/Shaun banter has a mind of its own sometimes. And big thanks for Nic for her input on this chapter; you can be my wingman anytime, Nicster. As per usual, all _Shaun of the Dead_ characters still belong to Simon Pegg and Edgar Wright.**

After an eventful day of doing the obligatory "couple on tour" tasks, Shaun would have been happy to go straight to bed. But Emma insisted on having dinner in the hotel's restaurant. She'd received an invitation to join Lady Chatham, a local aristocrat, when they'd met in the gardens the day before. And Emma wasn't about to pass up the chance to dine with nobility.

When they walked down the stairs and into the dining room, Shaun stopped short, frozen at the doorway. Across the room he saw Sara, seated at a table with an older woman in a seemingly deep conversation.

"Shaun, what's the problem?" Emma inquired.

"Uh, nothing. Nothing. I'm fine."

"Well, come on, we don't want to keep Lady Chatham waiting," she chided, indicating the woman who was now in conversation with Sara.

Shaun was now confronted with the very uncomfortable proposition of sharing a dinner with some rich old bat, his current girlfriend, and a no doubt very resentful slayer. He quickly tried to think of a way to avoid doing any further harm to Sara. Then he had an idea. "Emma, you see the girl sitting at that table?"

"Yeah."

"She's a friend of Liz, my ex-girlfriend. So it might not be a good idea to make a big deal out of our relationship in front of her. I wouldn't want to exacerbate things."

"Oh, come on, Shaun. You're a big boy. Why should you care what she thinks?"

"I don't. I'm just asking you to show some consideration, okay?"

"Sure, of course."

Shaun and Emma approached the table. The older woman - her silver hair perfectly piled upon her head, multiple diamonds twinkling on what seemed like every finger - removed her attention from Sara and smiled warmly at the new arrivals. "Emma! How lovely to see you again! And you must be Shaun. I've heard so much about you."

"Nice to meet you, Lady Chatham," he said. "Thank you for inviting us to dinner."

"Oh, it's my pleasure. And allow me to introduce my new American friend, Helen Wellesley. She's researching the inn for a travel book that she's writing."

"Actually, Helen and I are old acquaintances," Shaun said, much to Sara's surprise. Had he already told Emma of their history? How dare he do such a thing without asking her first?

"Well, what a coincidence," Lady Chatham cried.

"Idn't it, though?" Sara/Helen quipped.

"How do you two know each other?" Emma asked.

"I used to work in a video store in London," Sara lied. "Shaun was a frequent visitor."

"Yeah, I was always trying to get her to stock more Anime titles," Shaun played along.

"And I was always trying to stop him from renting all those chick flicks."

"I was just trying to get some insight into the female psyche."

Sara narrowed her eyes at him. "You were nursing a guy-crush on Hugh Grant. You just need to come clean and admit it."

Shaun looked over at Emma and emphatically shook his head.

"Well, obviously you learned something from those films to attract such a bright, young girl," Lady Chatham enthused. "Tell me, how did you two meet?"

"It was just like in a movie," Emma beamed. "One of my friends was moving into a new flat, which was completely devoid of furniture and appliances and everything. She couldn't even make any toast for breakfast. So we wandered into this nearby appliance store, Foree Electric. Well, there were a bunch of kids working there, barely old enough to order a pint. So I insisted on being waited on by the manager, who happened to be Shaun."

Emma reached across the table for Shaun's hand. He smiled sheepishly across the table at Sara, who rolled her eyes and downed the rest of her Rioja.

"He was really knowledgeable about the products," Emma continued. "Not to mention funny and charming. I think he was flirting with me the whole time. Anyway, we agreed upon a toaster for my friend's flat, and he said, 'I'll only let you have it if you invite me 'round for dinner. It's part of our new product quality assurance policy.' I mean, can you imagine?" Emma laughed.

Sara looked at Shaun with a raised eyebrow, and he emphatically shook his head.

"So I took pity on him and said that he was welcome to take me to a proper dinner if the toaster didn't work, and…" Emma continued.

"Skip to the end," Sara mumbled. Shaun shot her a dirty look.

"The toaster did work. But I went out with him anyway and we've been together ever since."

"What a sweet story! You never know when you'll meet Mr. Right, do you?" Lady Chatham said, then turned her attention to Sara. "What about you, Helen? You American girls seem to think you can stay single forever. Bide your sweet time till you find the right chap, eh?"

"Well, we do tend to think we have the luxury of choice, Lady Chatham. Silly American idea of independence, I guess."

"Can you honestly say you never met anyone who made you want to settle down?"

"At one time I quite foolishly thought I had met Mr. Right."

"Really? Do tell."

"He was handsome, sweet, funny…" Sara looked evenly across the table at Shaun, who had visibly gone pink, attempting to hide behind his water glass. "Had superb taste in music. Rather heroic in his own way."

"What went wrong, my dear?"

"Well, turns out he was gay."

Shaun abruptly spit out his water and started coughing.

"Shaun, are you okay?" asked a concerned Emma.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he replied.

"I think he knew all along deep down inside," Sara continued. "He was just afraid to face the truth. But when he did, he felt so much better."

"Maybe he was just saying that to avoid hurting your feelings," Shaun offered.

"Oh, no, he was quite gay. Had this weird fixation on David Beckham."

It infuriated Shaun that she seemed to be enjoying this so much. "Becks is one of the finest athletes of our time," he asserted.

"So is Mia Hamm, but I don't have her posters plastered all over my bedroom."

"Well, I wouldn't know…," he grumbled under his breath. Sara, stung, bit her lip and the four shared an uncomfortable silence.

"I mean, I'm sure that your ex-boyfriend did," Shaun continued. "Y'know, maybe he just didn't think that any other woman could measure up to you."

"Well, some men are perceptive that way," Sara said.

"Still, you have to keep up hope that you'll find your special someone," Emma piped up, "and not let the disasters of past relationships hold you back. Take Shaun, for instance. He had absolutely horrible luck with women till he met me."

"Really?"

"Oh, yes. He said he'd never met anyone that he felt was his equal. Someone that he could connect with on an emotional as well as a spiritual and physical level."

"Is that so?"

"He told me it took him quite a while to get over his last girlfriend. She was some American girl. Drama queen, from what I understand. Completely clingy and co-dependent. He was very lucky to have escaped that relationship relatively unscathed."

As Shaun saw Sara's grip tighten on her butter knife, he knew he had to do something to extinguish the burning fuse that Emma had unwittingly lit. "Uh, Helen, you look like you could use a refill," he attempted.

"No, Shaun, I'm very interested in what Emma has to say."

"No, you really want to join me at the bar," he suggested, calmly but firmly.

"I do?"

"You do."

"Apparently I do," she said, smiling at Lady Chatham. "Be right back."

They walked together out of the dining room, across the foyer and into the hotel bar. Shaun ordered another bitter and turned to Sara. "The lady's having….hemlock, is it?"

She wrinkled her face at him. "Rioja," she spat at the bartender, looking over her shoulder at the table they'd just left. "Honestly, Shaun, I don't know what you see in her. Look at her, sitting there all smug. I'd like to stab her in the eye with a fork."

"Coming from anyone else, I'd take that as a joke," Shaun remarked, folding his arms confrontationally. "Look, what do you think you're doing out there? If you keep on like this, Emma is going to figure out that something is going on between us."

She feigned ignorance. "Is something going on between us?"

"You know what I mean," he said with a frustrated sigh.

"I dunno, Emma doesn't seem like the sharpest knife in the drawer."

"Sara, listen to me. I know that you're upset and you're probably planning some horrendous torture for me, but there's no need to take it out on Emma. She has no idea who you are, she's not dating me just to spite you."

"No, you're doing a fine job of spiting me all by yourself."

"What are you talking about?" Shaun asked, then snorted. As if he had no idea. She used to think that snort was adorable, but right now it made her want to pull every hair in his goatee out one by one with a pair of tweezers.

"What do you think I'm talking about, Shaun? I thought we had some kind of connection. I thought that what we had was sacrosanct."

"What does that mean?"

"Well, you apparently spent more time mourning the death of Johnny Alpha than you did for me."

"No, what does 'sacrosanct' mean?"

"Sacred, holy, inviolable," Sara explained. "But then again, maybe I'm just being a drama queen."

Shaun's gaze fell to the floor. "Look, I never said that about you."

"Really? I'm sure Emma wouldn't lie about something like that."

"Sara, I'm not going to keep arguing with you." The words came slowly, like an incantation to make himself believe it: "What we had…it was good. Maybe it could have been great. But it's …over. We had our chance and we missed it."

"You mean, I missed it."

"Well…"

"Shaun, I know that I blew it, okay?" she stated, throwing up her hands in resignation. "I created the situation, I chose to leave, and I have no reason to be upset with you or Emma. I am now fully focused on my job and thus I will not be bothering you ever again."

"Good."

"Fine."

"You're okay with this?"

"Give me a break, Shaun," she huffed. "It's not like you're the first guy who ever dumped me. I mean, it's not like I'll never find someone else, someone that I can connect to on an emotional level as well as a spiritual and physical level. So you know, don't flatter yourself that I spent the better part of the last 24 hours thinking about your forearms, because I most certainly didn't."

He threw her a quizzical look. "You what?"

"Nothing."

"Sara, this is pointless. We just need to face the fact that it's time to move on with our lives, y'know. We can't keep thinking about 'what if.' Because it's just gonna' drive us both crazy if all we do is wonder what would have happened if you hadn't got on that plane."

"I know, I know," she agreed, staring straight ahead at the rows and rows of single malt scotch lining the back wall. "But for the record, I think what we had…could have been great."

Shaun looked up from his pint at the side of her face. In the dim bar light, with her hair swept to one side, she looked like a portrait. Some artist's rendering of perfection that was no longer within his reach. It felt like Chow Yun-Fat had just emptied the clips of both .45s straight through his heart. "I think so, too."

Sara immediately felt her anger and resentment subside, leaving her with the all-too-familiar feeling of despair and loneliness. "It's a shame we can't do anything about it."With a weak smile, shebravely turned her head to see Shaun's eyes pooling with regret.

"Yeah," he said slowly.

"Hi!" Emma interrupted. "Lady Chatham wanted a refill. I told her I'd take care of it. What have you two been talking about?"

"Nothing," Shaun answered quickly.

"We were just talking movies," Sara replied. "Shaun thinks that _Sin City_ will be better than _Batman Begins_, and I think that's complete bollocks."

"Really?" Emma asked, with a polite smile to signal that she had no idea nor interest in the topic.

"Helen has a thing for Christian Bale," Shaun said dismissively.

"I can't help it. British men just make me weak in the knees. Present company excepted, of course," she said with a sideways glance to Shaun.

Wishing to avoid any further confrontation, he decided to excuse himself. "Right, I think I'll pop off to the loo," he said. "Be right back."

"You've known Shaun for a while, right?" Emma asked.

"We're just casual acquaintances," Sara replied.

"There's just so many things I still don't know about him. You know, he was talking in his sleep last night. Did he ever mention a girl named Sara?"

Sara neatly spat a mouthful of wine back into her glass, wiping a dribble off her chin with her wrist.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. Black shirt, won't show... Um, no, I don't recall any mention of a Sara."

"Well, one day I was trying to tidy up his bedroom and I found all these toys and comic books and things. I was going to put them in a box and take them out to the shed, but Shaun completely freaked. He said they belonged to his friend Sara, and that he was taking care of them until she came back."

"Really?"

"Yeah, it's weird. He always gets this very distant look if I ask him about it. I don't want to think that he might be cheating on me, but…What if she's here? What if she is at this hotel and he's splitting time between us? I mean, can you imagine?"

"Oh, Emma, I find your lack of faith disturbing," she quoted, which drew a puzzled look from Emma. "Okay, I can hear the sound of flapping wings as that joke goesright over your head. Look, I know Shaun well enough to know that he's a good guy. He would never intentionally hurt you or lie to you. It's not in his nature."

"Good." She smiled at Sara. "I'm really glad we had this chat, Helen. It's been really helpful. Shaun has so much potential. I'd hate to think that I might have saddled myself to some overgrown adolescent who clings to these ridiculous childhood things. I'm not being unreasonable, am I? You'd feel the same if you were in my position, wouldn't you? Y'know, I've invested three months in this relationship and I've very little to show for it."

Sara placed her wine glass down on the bar with a resonant thud. It was clear she was going to have to summon heretofore unknown reserves of patience with this woman. "You've got a good man that loves you. What more do you want?"

"Sometimes that just isn't enough," Emma sighed. "A woman of the 21st century shouldn't have to settle, should she?"

"Let's get something straight, princess," Sara began, looking sternly into Emma's eyes. "Shaun is not some guy that you settle for. He's the kind of guy that you long for, and when you have him, you treasure and cherish every moment of it."

Emma laughed somewhat nervously. "I didn't realize you felt so strongly about one of your video store patrons."

"He's not just a patron, he's a friend. I would never admit it and if he asked me I would vehemently deny it, but I do care about Shaun. Very deeply. So if you break his heart, I break your face. Is that understood?"

Emma hesitantly nodded.

"Good. I'm really glad we had this chat," Sara smiled and patted her on the arm. Then picking up her drink, she walked away.


	7. Secrets and Lies

**DISCLAIMER: And this is the time in the story when we pedeconference. For those of you who don't watch _24_, "pedeconferencing" is when characters walk while delivering important exposition. And with all the walking and talking that Sara and Shaun are about to do, this imaginary hotel must be massive.**

"Well, that was a very interesting dinner," Emma said, entering their room and tossing her handbag onto the dresser.

"You're telling me," Shaun mumbled, closing the door.

"Lady Chatham was lovely, wasn't she? Amazing, to have all that wealth and status and yet still be such a down-to-earth person."

"Yes, she was very nice."

"Bit weird to see one of your old acquaintances from London all the way up here, wasn't it?"

"Hmm?"

"Helen whats-her-name. With you two being so close and all, I assume she would have mentioned that she'd be here."

"We're not close," Shaun asserted.

"You seemed to be giving her an awful lot of attention during dinner."

"That was just because I haven't seen her in a long time. I was surprised."

"I suppose she's another ghost from your past that I'm not allowed to ask about."

"What does that mean?"

"You always get so secretive about your past, Shaun. I know you went through some horrible things on Z-Day but so did I. So did everyone else. I'm just asking you to open up. To share with me and not keep shutting me out. I am your girlfriend, after all."

Shaun sighed, not wanting a repeat of this same conversation they'd been having for months. "I just don't like to talk about the past, Emma. That's all. I'm not trying to shut you out."

Emma placed a few pillows against the headboard, laid down on the bed and leaned up against them. "I asked your friend Helen about Sara."

"You what?" he gasped.

"While you were in the loo, I asked her about Sara. You always get all quiet and mopey when I ask about her, so I figured I'd try someone else."

"What did she say?"

"Nothing. Said she'd never heard of her."

Shaun decided that he needed to put an end to this line of questioning. After all, this was one thing he could be completely truthful about, in a somewhat deceptive way. "Emma, there's something I need to tell you."

He sat down beside her on the bed. "Sara was…well, she was very important to me. But she died about a month ago. I just had a hard time coming to terms with it. But I think I'm okay with it now. I've had time to really process what her death means to me, y'know. And I think I'm ready to move on with my life." He took her hand and looked at her to see if this new information was being absorbed.

"Good, I'm glad," Emma said with a warm smile. "We can finally toss all that stuff."

"What?"

"Those toys and things you were saving for her. Unless you want to send them to her family or something. Actually, I bet you could sell them for a lot on eBay."

"That's all you're concerned about? Decluttering the house?" He stood and walked away toward the window.

"Well, Shaun, what do you expect? You tell me she's dead and you're ready to move on with your life. I'm a part of your life. And I could be a bigger part of your life if you'd actually let me move in with you. We've been together for three months, we need to take the next step."

"Sorry, who's dictating where and when to take these steps? I mean, Liz didn't move in with me till after we'd been together for three years."

"Oh, now it's time to talk about Liz, is it? My other favorite name out of your little black book."

"I just wasn't aware that there was some timeline we were supposed to be following," he innocently protested.

"Come on, Shaun. You can't expect me to wait around forever while you decide whether or not you're ready to be in a grown-up relationship. If I don't do something, I'm going to be the only unmarried, childless woman in my group of friends and I'm going to have to sit through all of their weddings and baby showers while they look at me with condescension and pity because my DJ-slash-salesclerk boyfriend spends all of his money on video games instead of a ring."

He placed his hands on his hips and regarded her with disbelief. Without a word, he shook his head and walked toward the door.

"Where are you going?" she demanded. "Shaun, I'm not finished!"

"Yes, you are," he declared, slamming the door behind him.

After returning to her room, Sara changed into another ensemble of all black. Not to fit her mood, really, but to continue her exploration of the hotel's lower floors. She made a quick stop at the bathroom sink to splash water on her face. Drying off with a towel, she looked up into the mirror to see Will's ghost standing behind her. She cried out and clutched the sink for balance. "Will you _please_ stop doing that!" she berated.

"Sorry."

"How long have you been here?"

"Long enough," he replied with a grin.

"You really need to get a hobby," she said, tossing the towel at his face.

"I have a hobby."

"Voyeurism is not a hobby, Will," she said, leaving the bathroom as Will followed her. "Not in life and certainly not in death. Is there a particular reason you're haunting me tonight?"

"It's not a ghost, Sara," he declared.

"Julian seems to think it is." She sat down on the edge of the bed and slid her black boots onto her feet.

"No offense, but your new handler doesn't know the difference between a Trelfall demon and a trumpet. Look, the ghosts around this place...they're sad, they're tortured, but they're not violent. They've stolen some things…"

"Petty larceny."

"They've broken some windows and doors…"

"Breaking and entering."

"At worst, they've shoved someone down the stairs."

"Assault and battery."

"Believe me, Sara, the ghosts around here aren't capable of this kind of violence," he protested, sitting down beside her. "You need to check the indexes for demons, hellbeasts, portal-jumpers. You said you traced a major psychic power surge to this place."

"Yeah."

"The kind of power surge that only happens…"

"When someone decides to open a dimensional portal and summon up a hellbeast to do its bidding," she completed. "Wonderful."

She opened her trunk and transferred some sharp weapons and blunt objects to a messenger bag. Then she slung her trusty crossbow across her shoulder.

"Why are you wearing your skulking clothes?" he inquired.

"I wasn't aware these were my skulking clothes."

"An all black ensemble equals skulking."

"I have no intention of skulking."

"I suppose you were planning to lurk then?"

"Well, now that you mention it, skulking sounds more fun."

"Seriously, where are you off to now?" Will asked.

"The cellar. That's the last place Tara was seen. If it is a demon, I need to figure out a way to track it."

"That part of the house was the old parsonage. There's an underground tunnel leading to the nearby church, so that the priests could travel without fear of bandits."

"Is this common knowledge?"

"There have been so many changes to this building since the 1600s. I doubt anyone knows, even the innkeeper."

"Secret tunnels are never a good thing, Will."

"Maybe you should take some back-up."

"Julian's busy."

"That's not who I meant."

"I know who you meant, that's why I'm ignoring you," she said, going to the door. "And stay out of the mini-fridge while I'm gone. I do have to pay for all that stuff, y'know."

She closed the door of her room, locked it, and turned to walk straight into Shaun. Reflexively, he grabbed her arms and she tried to steady herself. As their eyes met, he quickly removed his hands.

"Sorry," he muttered.

"What do you want, Shaun?" she huffed.

"Peace, love, understanding," he joked.

She glared at him. "I don't have time for this."

She started to walk away but Shaun grabbed her arm. "No, no, no. Wait! We need to talk, Sara. Or Helen or whatever name you're going by."

"I'm kinda' busy right now. Shouldn't you be in bed with your girlfriend?"

Shaun sighed and hung his head. He felt the need to tell her the truth, but that didn't mean he had to see the smug grin on her face when he told her. "We sort of had a fight. Try to restrain your unbridled joy."

"Shaun, I am _not_ that cruel," she gasped. "But was it about me? You'd tell me if it was about me, wouldn't you?"

"It was not about you," he stated firmly. "Not directly, anyway. Where are you off to?"

"A slayer's work is never done, Shaun. Surely you haven't forgotten your training already."

"Well, I see you're loaded for bear," he said, noticing the bag o' weapons and the crossbow. "Or a really big demon. Are you going off to fight some demon on your own?"

"It's strictly recon work. And for your information, I was doing this gig by myself a long time before I met you."

"I'm not letting you go by yourself."

"Fine. I might need live bait, anyway." She started to walk off down the hallway, and he reluctantly followed. "How did you find me?" she asked, over her shoulder.

"I saw the name 'Cordelia Summers' on the register. Not exactly subtle."

"Yeah, well, I was never any good at pseudonyms."

"Sara, I really think we should talk."

"Hmm, talking…not exactly my strong point."

"You were certainly doing a lot of talking at dinner," he sarcastically remarked.

"Well, that's what happens when I'm confronted by a former flame and his perfect new girlfriend."

"Really? I thought that was what happened when you'd had too much wine."

"Yeah, that might have had something to do with it," she agreed. "But I'll have you know that I was in the middle of interrogating that woman when you and Bitchy McWhinesAlot showed up."

"Sorry, is there a reason you're calling my girlfriend 'Bitchy McWhinesAlot'?"

"No, just a name I decided to confer on her," she replied dismissively. "Anyway, you show up in your navy blue shirt and you know how that impairs my mental capacity. So all of that, coupled with a generous amount of Rioja, left me feeling very defensive and catty and I don't know, jealous? Honestly, being in love with you has turned me into such a…a girl."

"What did you say?"

Sara stopped short when her brain decided to notify her of what her mouth had just said. "Nothing," she replied casually.

"Did you just say you were in love with me?"

"Well, if I did say something vaguely like that, then I take it back."

"Take it back? You can't take it back!"

"Why not?"

"Because it's out there now."

"Fine, it's out there. Alert the press!" She started to descend the stairs to the foyer and he tried to keep up with her.

"How do you expect me to react to that?" he asked.

"In whatever way you feel is appropriate, Shaun."

"Appropriate?"

"Okay, I'll make it multiple choice." She stopped at the bottom of the stairs to face him. "Your choices are a) 'I love you back' or b) 'That's nice to know' or c) 'Let's just be friends.' Any of those work for you?"

"How…what…" he stammered.

"I'll assume you chose D, or none of the above." She started moving again, toward a corridor with dark wood paneling underneath the staircase. "So next question: How did you meet her?"

"What?"

"How did you meet Emma? Because she's obviously not Russian, and I'm so not believing the whole toaster story."

"Why not?"

"Because that whole 'product quality assurance' line is such a lame pick-up, even for you."

"All right, fine. One night, about three months ago, I was DJ'ing at a club. Emma came in with a bunch of friends, pre-wedding hen party, that kind of thing. She managed to slur a few requests at me and at one point, she sort of passed out and hit her head on the turntable. I was afraid she had a concussion or something, so I handed over my duties to another DJ and took her to the hospital. When she woke up, she asked me out and I thought why not?"

"So this woman had a head injury and was doped up on painkillers when she decided to ask you out?" Sara concluded, standing in front of the door to the cellar. "That explains a lot."

"Oh, and I suppose you were completely sober and clear-headed the night you kissed me outside that warehouse?"

"What? Wait, you kissed me!"

"I don't recall you putting up a struggle."

"Riley, you do not want to pick a fight with me right now."

"I wasn't."

"Because you said you weren't going to fight with me anymore," she reminded.

"I'm not! I was just making an observation. I keep trying to be sincere, and every time I do, you throw up this wall of sarcasm at me."

"Hey, I need my sarcasm. It's like my security blanket," she asserted, opening the cellar door and starting to descend the dark, cold staircase. She flipped on a flashlight to chase away the shadows.

"And here I thought those Star Wars action figures were your security blanket."

"They used to be. And by the way, your new girlfriend told me how she tried to chuck them out."

"You'll be happy to know I didn't let her."

"I'd be happier if they were properly displayed in the front room."

"They are displayed. They have their own shelf on a bookcase."

"Yeah, in your bedroom."

"So?"

"Not many people go in your bedroom, Shaun," she explained, as if she were stating the obvious. "They can't be properly appreciated. Especially if Miss Pretty Pink Princess is now calling the decorating shots."

"Okay, a) she is not a pretty pink princess, and b) she does not call the decorating shots."

"Are your DJ posters still up on the walls?"

"No, but…"

"Is there a slipcover on the couch?"

"Yes, but that was Liz's idea…"

"Are there curtains, shower or otherwise, in your house with flower or cute animal motifs?"

Shaun paused in silence, doing an internal inventory of his home. "All right, yes, there's one with fish on it in the guest bedroom."

"I rest my case."

"Look, I admit that Emma has made some changes to the flat, but they were all mutually agreed upon improvements."

"Well, I must say I admire your ability to acknowledge that you're whipped."

"I am not whipped," he countered.

"Living in denial doesn't help anyone, sweetie."

"And you would know about living in denial."

She came to an abrupt stop and turned on him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You work it out," he said in a low voice as he walked past her and continued down the stairs.

Completing their descension in tense silence, they reached the bottom of the staircase and found themselves surrounded by racks upon racks of wine.

"Would you mind enlightening me as to what we're looking for?" Shaun inquired.

"Shaun, you don't work for the Council anymore."

"Look, I'm here now. You might as well tell me what kind of gruesome, imminent death awaits me in this cellar."

Sara closed her eyes and exhaled. She knew it was a bad idea to bring Shaun in on this. She hadn't done it intentionally. But then again, every moment he was with her was a moment that he wasn't with Emma. And she couldn't help but derive the tiniest bit of joy from that.

"Okay, here's the 4-1-1. Last month, the Council tracked some sort of temporal anomaly to this location."

"Kinda' like a disturbance in the Force?"

"Exactly. We then learned that three women from this area have disappeared over the last few weeks. All young, all connected to this hotel. We're still trying to figure out if the two events are related. The most recent victim was last seen on her way to the cellar. If we can't find her here, maybe we can at least find a trail of whatever took her."

"A what or a who?"

"We're definitely dealing with a what. We've only found one body, and a person couldn't do that kind of damage."

"And it's not a vampire."

"No. Julian thinks it's a ghost, but I'm leaning toward demon at this point."

"Julian? Who's Julian?"

She gave him a smug smirk. "The new man in my life."

"Hang on! How come you're so upset about me being with Emma when you've gone and found someone else to shag? Hypocritical much?"

"Julian is my new handler, you twat!" she explained. "Jealous much?"

"No," he pouted. "So what kind of demon are we talking about?"

"I have no idea," she said, examining a dark stain on the floor near the champagne bottles. "It could be anything. So just to be on the safe side, should we meet up with this thing, don't look into its eyes, don't let it touch you, and definitely don't let it drive a spike into your head and extract the fluid from your pineal gland."

"They can do that?"

"There was one in Madagascar back in the 1800s. No sightings in this country so far, but there's a first time for everything."

He paused and looked at her as the absurdity of the current situation seemed to suddenly strike him. "Y'know, I've missed our morbid and slightly terrifying conversations."

She smiled at him. "Yeah, me, too." Then she noticed his gaze move to something over her shoulder. "What is it?"

"I might be crazy, but I think there's a light coming from over there."

They moved to the other side of the room. There was a faint glow coming from underneath a section of wall. Together, they moved the wine rack aside to expose the brick wall behind it.

"Secret passage?" Shaun suggested.

"I read that there used to be a tunnel leading from this part of the house to a nearby church," Sara explained. "But the church hasn't been in use for years."

Sara tried pushing on the bricks to find some way to open the door. One of them gave way, and the door within the brick wall opened. A narrow, barrel-shaped corridor illuminated by lit torches stretched far into the shadows.

"Clearly, someone has been using this tunnel," he surmised. "Ladies first."

"No, I insist. Age before beauty."

"Hey, you're the trained slayer. You're supposed to lead the charge."

"Oh, don't be such a big girl's blouse. It's just a foreboding tunnel leading into a dark, shadowy abyss."

Shaun threw up his hands. "All right, I'll go first. But you get to explain to Emma how you got me killed." He grabbed one of the torches and started down the tunnel.

"Yeah, that'll greatly improve her opinion of me," she muttered, following his lead.


	8. Going to the Chapel

**DISCLAIMER: This is a lovely time of year, idn't it? Spring is coming soon (I hope, because I'm really tired of the cold rain and the bone-chilling winds), the NCAA Tournament is starting up, and as St. Patrick's Day nears, everyone is in the mood to celebrate being Irish (whether or not they're actually Irish).**

**And this is a lovely time for a fight scene, don't you think? I certainly do.**

Shaun and Sara followed the curving trail of the tunnel for what seemed like hours. Finally they arrived in a small but spacious chapel dimly lit by scattered candlebras.

"Would it be cliché to say I have a bad feeling about this?" Shaun muttered as they crossed the chapel floor toward the altar, his hushed voice echoing off the stone walls.

"What's the matter, Shaun?" Sara chided. "Don't you have fond memories of the last time we were in a church together?"

"Yeah, good times. Beheading an ancient vampire and then being surrounded by thousands of bloodsucking fiends. It's a treasured memory."

"This church looks fairly deserted. I'm sure there's nothing to worry abo—"

Unfortunately, the stonework beneath them decided to give way at that moment. The ancient tiles shattered, throwing up a thick cloud of dust and debris.

Sara fell hard against the earth below. She slowly got to her feet, coughing from all the dust. "Shaun?" she called, but there was no answer. Darkness surrounded her. She looked upward and figured she'd fallen 7 or 8 feet into an old crypt.

She brought her flashlight up to eye level and flipped it on. A skull with hollow eye sockets and gaping jawburst out of the shadows. She screamed and turned to find herself face to face with another skeleton. She stumbled forward in the darkness, feeling the bony fingers clutching at her arms and hair.

Suddenly, a non-sketelal hand reached out and grasped her arm, pulling her out into the light. Shaun took hold of her trembling shoulders. "Sara, it's okay. You're safe." He stroked her hair, removing the cobwebs. She heaved a sigh of relief and threw her arms around him. As she tried to catch her breath, his scent filled her nostrils. Calvin Klein or Ralph Lauren or…Christ, she didn't know, but she'd forgotten how incredible he smelled. It wasn't fair for him to smell that good while she had work to do. Best to get out of his embrace as soon as possible.

"It's just…y'know…spiderwebs," she stammered, brushing the gossamer strands from off her shoulders. "They freak me out."

"Really? I thought it might have been the skeletons."

They stepped forward into the new room that Shaun had discovered. It was more open and well-lit than the one they'd fallen into, about five feet wide and 10 feet long with damp, mossy walls and a barely discernible wooden ladder at the far end.

"Now what kind of slayer would I be if I freaked out at the mere sight of…bodies…" she said hesitantly when her eyes finally made their way to the floor.

Before them lay the bodies of two women. Not as decomposed as the ones they'd just left, but hardly fresh. Sara kneeled down to examine them, noticing the disheveled uniform and nametag on one of the bodies.

"Are these your missing persons?" Shaun surmised.

"Looks that way."

"Same cause of death?"

"Yep. Same puncture wound in the chest, straight through to the heart. But why are they here?" she wondered aloud.

"What do you mean?"

"We found a body, in worse condition, dumped in the woods. Are they being saved for some reason?"

"Do we really want to know?"

"That's kinda' my job, Shaun," she remarked. "Let's see where that ladder leads, shall we?"

They ascended the ladder into an upper room. It appeared to be an old library, its walls lined with shelves upon shelves of thick leather-bound volumes. They split up to scan the room.

"Jackpot!" Sara exclaimed, as she came upon a wall covered with photos, articles, notebook pages with scrawled handwriting.

"What is all this?"

"For lack of a better word, evidence."

Upon further examination, they found a marriage certificate between Evelyn Bryant and William Fairfax, subsequent divorce papers, dozens of surveillance pictures of a man and a younger woman who was decidedly not Evelyn Fairfax, pages and pages of what looked like incantations and mystical drawings. Sara recognized only one word, and that word had some very negative connotations.

"So it wasn't a ghost," she concluded.

"A ghost?"

"Yeah, apparently this is one of the more haunted hotels in the country. We thought we might be looking at a poltergeist, but all of this suggests otherwise." Sara produced a small digital camera and began to take several pictures of the wall.

"Okay. So let me get this straight, this Evelyn gets a divorce from her husband when she finds out he's having an affair…"

"Right. And instead of dealing with it through the accepted method of several pints of Haagen Dasz and Meg Ryan flicks, she decides to dabble in black magic. Grabs a copy of _Opening Hell Dimensions for Dummies_, lights some candles, and unleashes a hellbeast."

"Are these words to some kind of spell?" he asked, flipping through some notebook pages.

"I dunno. Maybe Julian can decipher it. The only word I recognize in all this is D'Hoffryn, recruiter and supervisor of vengeance demons."

"She summoned a vengeance demon?"

"Looks that way."

"But it didn't go after her husband or his lover?"

"No. Well, not that we know of."

"It's just killing random women?"

"It can't be random," she asserted, shaking her head. "All of the victims so far…they're young, female, and single. Evelyn must have established a type, a standard victim. That's what the demon is focusing on."

"Then it could come after anyone. You, or Emma…" His eyes widened.

"We'd better get back to the hotel," Sara suggested.

They exited the library, passed through a few more doors and found themselves back in the chapel. They were careful to walk around the new hole in the floor as they crossed back to the tunnel entrance.

But they found the entrance blocked. A large, formidable figure stood before them. Clearly not human, it stood several feet taller than either of them. Its smooth, dark blue skin glistened in the candlelight, as did the several sharp teeth it was baring. Spikes of varying lengths, but all looking scarily sharp, adorned its head and arms. An unearthly growl emanated from its throat.

"Friend of yours?" Shaun whispered.

"No."

"Would it have hurt you to say yes?"

"Well, I tend to tell the truth in stressful situations."

"Great."

Sara steeled herself to confront the creature. "Look, I don't know who you are or how you got here, but the Council has a few questions for you."

In response, a sharp, three-foot spike sprang from the demon's right arm at the wrist.

"Well, that's…different," Shaun observed.

"Fine," Sara declared. "If you want to play it that way…" She fired her crossbow at the demon, but the arrow bounced off its armored chest and clattered to the floor. "Oh, dear."

"What do we do now?"

"Fall back and regroup?"

"Okay."

Shaun and Sara hastily retreated to a spot behind a tomb.

"What is that thing?" he demanded while she rummaged through her weapons inventory.

"Don't know."

"How do you kill it?"

"Don't know."

"Could we…gouge out its eyes?" he suggested.

"I didn't see any eyes."

"Kick it in the bollocks?"

"I didn't see any of those either." She placed an axe in his hands and held a gleaming machete in her own. "Look, I've got to find an Achilles' heel on this thing. Be a dear and distract him."

"Distract him? With what?"

"You'll think of something." She got to her feet and readied herself to run. "Just remember," she advised, turning back to him, " don't die." Then she scrambled off to another corner of the chapel.

"Yes, very helpful." Shaun closed his eyes and gathered his courage. With a slow exhale, he rose to his feet and looked across the chapel to where the demon still stood. "Oi, tall, dark, and spiky!"

The demon focused its attention on Shaun and started to stride across the room, its heavy footsteps reverberating throughout the building. Sara launched her attack from the shadows. She swung the machete, but the demon blocked the blow with his right arm, lodging the blade in its arm. Sara tried futilely to free it. The creature's left hand grasped her roughly by the throat and flung her against the wall. Then it removed the machete from its arm and tossed it aside.

"Sara!" Shaun cried and launched into the fray. He swung the axe at the demon's back, but the blade was deflected without doing any damage. Shaun received a brutal backhand that sent him flying across the floor.

Meanwhile, Sara had recovered and was now armed with an iron torch from the wall. She swung it overhead but the demon dodged, and she hit the floor instead. She swung again but the demon caught the torch in mid-swing. A powerful punch sent her sprawling to the floor. She rolled quickly away as the demon swung the torch toward the floor with devastating force. Way to give the guy a weapon, Sara thought inwardly.

Shaun jumped onto the demon's back, attempting to snap its neck. The demon dropped the torch and clawed at its back. Unsuccessful, he decided instead to try to crush his opponent against the wall. Shaun cried out in pain as he found himself wedged between the wall and the hulking creature.

Sara rushed to grab her machete and as she looked up, she saw Shaun fall to the floor. Seeing its opportunity, the demon readied its spike for a final blow. "No!" Sara cried. The demon missed its mark and instead stabbed Shaun in the side.

With newfound strength, she swung the machete, severing the monster's arm at the wrist. As it roared in agony, she spun and drove the blade into its abdomen. The demon stumbled backward, falling into the hole that Sara and Shaun had created.

Sara rushed to Shaun's side. "Shaun, are you okay? Please be okay," she pleaded.

"I'm good, I'm fine," he replied weakly.

"We need to get out of here. Can you walk?"

"Yeah."

She helped him to his feet and let him lean against the wall while she recovered her bag and crossbow. He leaned on her shoulders as they struggled to navigate through the tunnel and back to the hotel's cellar. When they finally reached the doorway, Sara gently deposited Shaun on the floor, closed the door to the passageway and struggled to pull the wine cabinet back to its original position.

Removing the sweater over her tank top, she handed it to Shaun. "Use this to keep pressure on the wound. It should help stop the bleeding." He complied, wincing at the pain.

She knew he was in pain, but his breathing was still strong; she really didn't need him to pass out right now. She used her cell phone to make a quick call to Julian and ask him to meet her in her room with a first aid kit. Then she turned back to Shaun. "Ready to move?"

"Do I have a choice?" he groaned.

"Nope," she replied. "Come on." She placed his arm around her shoulder and helped him to his feet. Slowly they hobbled through the halls and made it back to her room.


	9. Second Chances

**DISCLAIMER: Oh, no, it's the fluff chapter! What makes it so different than the previous chapters, I hear you ask. Well, um…Shaun kissage, that's what. I could whine and complain and say that I felt obligated to do a chapter like this, but if I have to be perfectly honest, I had way too much fun writing it. In fact, this whole story has turned out to be a really flimsy excuse for _this_ chapter.**

**Mad props to my ghost writer Nic, without whom this chapter would not be half as enjoyable as it turned out to be.**

Julian was waiting at the door with a concerned expression. "Where have you been? What happened?"

"No time, Jules," Sara barked. "Shaun's hurt." She opened the door and helped Shaun inside and onto the bed.

Shaun nodded at Julian and introduced himself. "Shaun Riley."

"I gathered. Julian West." Julian smiled, and Shaun tried to suss out what it was about Sara's new handler that reminded him of a rat.

"I assume you found our prime suspect," Julian continued.

"Yeah, big spiky demon. I tried to bring him in for questioning, but he was more interested in turning us into shish kabobs."

"Are you hurt?"

"No, I'm fine. Just take care of Shaun."

"It's not that bad," Shaun protested.

Sara ignored his protests, grabbing a notebook and making a quick sketch of the demon they'd encountered while Julian examined the wound in Shaun's side. "I think you got lucky this time, Mr. Riley. He barely nicked you. It's not a deep puncture wound, and it doesn't seem like you've lost a lot of blood. I'm fairly sure you'll live."

"Good to know."

Julian cleaned the wound in his side and placed a bandage around Shaun's waist. "You might want to clean and change the dressing twice a day to avoid infection. I'm afraid until we identify the demon that attacked you, it's impossible to know how you'll be affected. I can give you some basic painkillers and antibiotics to be on the safe side."

"That'd be great."

Julian left a few bandages and medications out, and then packed up his first aid kit. He turned his attention to his protégé. "Sara, a word?"

She adopted a chastised look and joined Julian in the hallway. Tearing the page out of her notebook, she handed it to him. "Artist's rendering, thought it might be helpful."

"I trust this was an accident," he said with an accusatory glare.

"Of course. I would never willingly put a civilian in danger."

"As you've pointed out on more than one occasion, Shaun isn't just any civilian."

"Julian, I did not seek Shaun out. He came to see me, we talked, and things just kind of… happened."

"Why don't you tell me exactly what happened?"

"Shaun and I went to the cellar, since that was the last place Tara was seen. We found a secret passageway leading to an old church."

"And that's where you found the big spiky demon?"

"Not just that. There were two bodies in an underground crypt. I'm fairly sure one of them was Tara Farrell."

"I'll inform Detective Ashford."

"We need to deal with this demon before the local PD come swarming in."

"I'm aware of that, Sara."

"Julian, this thing is ten feet tall and armor-plated. It's going to take a lot of firepower to stop it."

"Why don't you let me do some research before you go running off for some cans of nitro-nine?" he admonished. "Did you find anything else in the church?"

"Evidence of how our demon friend got here." She handed over a digital camera. "There was a room in there. The walls are covered with photos, articles, incantations mentioning D'Hoffryn. All of it pointing back to a very obsessive Evelyn Fairfax."

"Scorned woman summons a vengeance demon," Julian concluded, zipping through the photos she took. "Well, it wouldn't be the first time. But there are dozens of vengeance demons, in this dimension and the next…"

"Then I suggest you hit the books."

"Sara, you've obviously made some progress but identifying this particular demon might take time…"

"Look, Julian, I want to know what this thing is and I want to know what its weaknesses are. Because the next time I see it, it's dead."

"Would it do me any good to advise you against making this personal?

"Hmm, let me think…No."

Julian rolled his eyes. "Being impulsive and reckless is not going to help anyone. You need to step back and be rational."

Sara stared at him, then leaned forward and jabbed a finger at his breastbone. "When it's your friend lying there bleeding, then you can come and talk to me about rational." She turned and went back in the room.

Shaun was in the bathroom, examining his bandages with a look that was a curious mix of worry and pride. Ah, battle scars. He turned when he heard the door close. "So that's Julian?" Shaun inquired, shuffling toward the bed. He stacked a few pillows on one side and sat down, wincing.

"That is Julian," she answered, cueing up Sarah McLachlan's "Ice Cream" on the CD player to calm her nerves.

"How long have you worked with him?"

"About two months now."

Shaun pursed his lips, nodding, fishing for details. "What's he like?"

"He's nice," she replied with a smirk. "Are you sure you're okay? Can I get you anything?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. What about you?"

"Nothing a little amaretto won't fix." She again raided the mini-bar. "At least this is something you won't have to worry about with Emma. Puncture wounds, internal bleeding. How are you gonna' explain that, by the way?"

"I'll just tell her I was stabbed by a thug while protecting the life of a small child."

"Smooth." She knocked back the amaretto and tossed him a tequila. He snatched it out of the air and chuckled.

"Cheers, love." Shaun drained the small bottle as Sara sat down beside him on the bed. Close enough that he could smell her shampoo. Chamomile or lavendar or…Christ, he had no idea, but he'd forgotten how incredible her hair smelled.

"Hi," she said softly, smiling at him.

He laughed lightly, a bit taken aback. Where were the sarcasm and self-righteous indignation? Was this some kind of trap?

"Hi," he responded, pulling a silly face to relieve the tension. She smiled broadly and sincerely, against her better judgment, and looked away. Shaun felt as if a ray of sunshine had briefly fallen on him. But then he decided that was far too clichéd and dismissed the thought.

"I'm really sorry," she said, projecting sincerity. "About the gaping wound and all."

"I dunno if it's gaping. Anyway, don't worry. I hear that being impaled by a demon builds character or something."

"Yeah, but it would be nice if you could have a date with me that didn't end in blood loss."

"Then it wouldn't be a date with you, would it?"

Sara tucked a lock of raven hair behind her ear, shrugging and trying to keep her other nervous gestures in check. "I'm sorry, that was stupid of me. I didn't mean to suggest that this was a date."

"Sara, stop apologizing."

"I'm sorry." She slapped her forehead. "Ugh, maybe I should just stop talking." She pursed her lips and cast her gaze on the floor. An uncomfortable silence followed.

Shaun tried to take his attention off the low cut of her tank top by changing the subject. "You know, funny story…"

"What's that?"

"I ran into Liz the other day."

Sara's eyes widened. "How is the legendary Liz?"

"She's getting married to some Australian wanker, Hugh Bana or whatever the fuck his name is."

"Oh, that sucks."

"And then a few hours later," he mused, "I run into you on the other end of a crossbow."

"Hey, I already apologized for that," she insisted.

He scratched his head and smiled warmly. "I don't think I've ever been so happy to have a deadly weapon pointed at me."

"You are a strange man, Riley."

"You're a strange woman, Cross."

Sara bit her lip, gaining confidence. "Fair enough," she agreed. "Look, I know that we got off to a really bad start here, and that I've been really bitchy and self-absorbed, and I didn't exactly help matters by getting you skewered, but I was wondering if we could start again. I mean, doesn't it feel like we've been given a second chance?"

"Maybe you're right. Maybe we could finally say all the things that we've been meaning to say to each other." Shaun held her gaze and gently reached forward, taking her hand in his. He closed both hands around it, brushing the pad of his thumb across her palm.

"Exactly." Sara shivered. And Shaun's voice became so thrillingly low she thought she might slide off the bed.

"Or maybe we could just skip all that and get to the part where you're kissing me."

"Umm, yeah, I'm fine with that."

Shaun blinked, and laid his hand gently on her cheek. Sara leaned into his palm, and scooted closer. Eyes closed, breathing ragged… their lips met, hesitantly. Sara raised her index finger and traced the line of his mouth before kissing him again…gently, then with increased passion. The way Shaun snaked his arms around her and hauled her against him, you'd never know he'd been impaled by a demon not an hour earlier.

But suddenly, Sara pulled away from him and walked to the French doors. "No, no, no. Shaun, we can't do this."

"Why not?" He simply stared after her.

"Because…because of…Grayson."

"Grayson. Oh, no, don't tell me you're back with him."

"No," she answered emphatically. "It's just…when he cheated on me, I swore that I would never go through that again. I don't want to be this awful homewrecking harlot."

For the first time in weeks, he wasn't fooling himself. "You're assuming that Emma and I have a home to wreck."

"You're in a committed relationship, Shaun."

"I'm not. Not now." Pregnant pause... "Well, not at the current time."

"Semantics." Sara paced the floor between the door and the bed, gesturing with her hands. Reasoning. Or trying to. "It doesn't change the fact that there's a woman waiting for you in Room 23. And even if she has horrible taste in home décor, she does have impeccable taste in men."

Shaun opened his mouth to speak, but she quickly cut him off. "Even if you two did have a fight, I'm sure the moment that you walked out the door she regretted everything that she'd said and as soon as she sees you again, she will beg and plead with you to take it all back if you would just give her another chance. Because she will realize that life without you is a horrible thing and if she really loves you, she will not make the same mistake I did. And she won't have to live with the pain and regret that I do everyday. No one should have to do that, even if they're hopelessly uninformed about _Star Wars_."

Shaun considered her from across the room. Then realized there was nothing to consider. He'd made his choice. "Sara, unless you threaten me with serious bodily harm, I'm gonna' have to kiss you again, right now."

She turned to him with the hungriest look he'd ever seen in those big, brown eyes. "If it's not too much trouble."

Shaun flew off the bed, striding quickly across the room, bent her backward and kissed her. They toppled against the wall with a thud, and Shaun deepened the kiss as she coiled her arms around his neck. Every nerve-shattering memory of their first kiss in Brixton came rushing back to her, and then some; Sara ran her fingers up into his hair, clutching at the ginger strands, and wondered if she'd consciously forgotten how amazing his lips tasted. Tequila or no tequila.

"What took you so long?" she whispered when they finally pulled apart.

"You wouldn't stop talking," he retorted.

Sara planted kisses along the scruff of his jaw and down his neck, all the while undoing the buttons of his shirt as they moved slowly toward the bed. She paused, her eyes lingering on all that pale shop boy flesh as she raked one fingernail up his stomach, over the bandage and along his chest. "I will have you know…that I can talk dirty to you in Magyar, Serbian, and Portuguese."

Shaun's fists clenched at his sides. "Now who's a filthy bitch?"

"You still love it." In one smooth movement, she pushed him onto the bed and straddled him. Shaun groaned - actually, it was more of a yelp - as she leaned down to kiss him again. "Shaun?" she asked breathlessly.

"Uhh-huh?"

"Do you think we might be taking this too fast?"

He nudged her upright, slipping his fingers under her tank top and inching them upward toward her breasts as if to say for fuck's sake, woman…don't change your mind again. "Honestly, Sara, I'm not all that interested in thinking right now."

She ran both hands over his forearms with a triumphant smirk on her lips. "Good, neither am I."

Sara shucked the top and hurled it across the room like a frisbee, snagging the lamp. The first of many items of clothing about to wind up hanging from the furniture. She smothered him in another kiss as he rolled on top of her, the two of them giggling like children. The laughter would cease as the night wore on, and conversation became the furthest thing from their minds.


	10. Checkout Time

**DISCLAIMER: I've finally hit the double digit chapter mark. Thanks for sticking with me. Now, the Winchester, er, the ending is just over there. Just over those 20 garden fences. I promise we'll all get there in one piece. Or not.**

**As usual, props to Edgar and Simon for creating _Shaun of the Dead_ in the first place (and congrats to them on their Empire Award for Best British Film—yeah boi!). And special thanks to Nic for being my collaborator, my co-conspirator, and my continuity co-pilot.**

"Are you awake?"

She was, but Sara pretended to sleep, oblivious to Shaun's question. Her head tilted toward him in the impossibly deep down pillow. If there was one thing she could say about this hotel, really bad mojo but _fantastic_ linens. She could feel the warmth of his body beside her and resisted the temptation to open her eyes for just a little longer. Something in her gut told her he needed a moment to himself. To see her as he wanted to, undisturbed, without her attention influencing how he might feel. His fingers closed around her own under the sheets.

When she finally opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was Shaun wearing the laziest, dreamiest, sexiest look she'd ever seen. On anyone. Ever. With the curtains still drawn, the light in the room was spare and gauzy and his eyes were like the ocean on a drizzly winter morning. They sparked a little when he noticed her awaken; his mouth slowly spread into a smile that made her ache inside. She wanted him again instantly, in spite of the way his hair was bed-headedly tweaked sideways like stray feathers on a duck. Sort of enhanced the feeling, actually.

"Hi," she purred, stretching every muscle from her fingers to her toes. He replied by drawing her hand to his lips and placing a small kiss on her knuckles. "How long have you been watching me?"

"Feels like aaaaages," he whispered, rolling his eyes comically. Sara tittered, inching like a caterpillar toward his open arms. He stroked the hair away from her face and clasped his mouth upon hers with a long, low exhale. She longed for every morning to start like this. Though if the rest of the day also didn't involve tracking a vengeance demon, or worrying about how Shaun was going to break it off with his girlfriend…. yeah, that'd be nice.

After poring over texts and photographs all night, Julian decided it was time to speak with their prime suspect, Evelyn Fairfax. He tossed on his jacket, shook the lack of sleep off his tired shoulders and walked the long length of the hotel's halls toward the east wing. He paused, briefly, to shift into determined interrogation mode, then knocked on the innkeeper's door.

She wore a lavender dressing gown, her hair plaited and draped over one shoulder. Julian couldn't help remarking to himself that she was remarkably striking for her age. Shrewish, but striking. She greeted him with a perplexed look. "Can I help you, Mr. West?"

"Mrs. Fairfax, we need to talk."

"I've said all I'm going to say to you. Now you're welcome to take your ridiculous theories and conjectures to the police, but I have other things to attend to."

"Like summoning another vengeance demon?"

Mrs. Fairfax's pupils seemed to shrink to the size of pinheads and she sneered at him. "I don't know what you're talking about." She tried to shut the door, but he stopped it with a forceful hand.

"We found your little scorned woman scrapbook, Evie. The divorce papers, the photos of your husband with another woman, the pages and pages of incantations. Oh, and also a couple of bodies." He stepped forward into the room, leaning imposingly against the doorway. Two could play at this game. "So I think it's time we had a chat."

"This is ridiculous. I don't have to stand here and take this harassment." She flew toward the telephone, presumably to call the wait staff and have him removed; Julian wrested the phone out of her hand then gently guided her to a chair, removed two pairs of handcuffs, and with a Houdini-like grace he deftly shackled her to the arm rests. Mrs. Fairfax attempted to resist, but only so much; Julian wondered if she found it unbecoming of a lady to put up too much of a struggle.

"Now, the cuffs come off when you start giving me some straight answers."

"I honestly have no idea what you're talking about!" she protested.

"Maybe these will refresh your memory." He methodically laid his evidence out on the table in front of her.

Her eyes glanced over the photos and notebook pages, but her face betrayed no emotion. "Why are you showing me all this?"

"None of this rings a bell?"

"No," she firmly declared. "I don't know what you want me to say, Mr. West. I've already told you that I had nothing to do with those girls' disappearances."

Julian bit his lip, retreating to the armchair across the room. He sat down, folded his legs calmly and contemplated the merry widow. "You see, I tend to get a bit impatient when rank amateurs start playing around with dark forces they can't even begin to comprehend. And when the foolishness of such people endangers the life of my colleague, I can get downright nasty. So why don't you tell me exactly when, where, and how you conjured up a Velkor demon?"

"A Velkor demon?"

Suddenly, Julian leapt from the chair and leaned so far forward that Mrs. Fairfax's head banged the wall behind her.

"Ouch!"

"Yes, Mrs. Fairfax. Big, blue, spiky guy with a very bad disposition and an insatiable bloodlust. Currently squatting in that musty old chapel on the grounds, as if you didn't know."

She looked away, sorting through her thoughts. A glimmer of recognition seemed to soften those piercing green eyes. "You have to understand, I was very hurt and angry at the time. I didn't know what I was doing."

"That's quite clear."

"My husband had just left me for some two-bit floozy. Fifteen years I'd given that man, and that was how he repaid me. I wanted revenge. I wanted them both to suffer as I did." She leaned back into the chair and gritted her teeth, then continued: "So I went to see a friend of mine, Prunella Davies. She lives in the village, runs a bookshop. There were rumors when we were children that she was descended from a line of witches, and in adulthood she scarcely made a secret of her knowledge of the occult, rituals and chants, all that."

She paused, sighing heavily. Julian's patience began to wear thin. "Please go on, Mrs. Fairfax."

"Pru recommended trying to secure the services of a vengeance demon. She gave me everything I needed for the spell, and I tried to follow all of her instructions but Latin was never my strong point." Evelyn gasped, one hand flying up to cover her mouth; the handcuffs wouldn't reach, though. Her lip quivered and she simply stared at Julian. "And I think something went wrong."

Julian felt a slight twinge of pity and kneeled in front of her. "What do you mean?"

"The demon—a Velkor, you say—it appeared from this sort of portal. It was horrible. Not at all like the pictures in the book. I feared at first that it might kill me, but it didn't seem interested in me. And then I found that I wasn't able to control it."

"Terrific." Julian rubbed his brow in frustration.

"I tried, I did! But it wouldn't obey my commands. At this point, I'm simply staying out of its way. Pru gave me this amulet to protect me from it." She moved aside the collar of her dressing gown to reveal an antiquated pendant set in gold.

He shook his head wearily, took out his cell phone and hurriedly punched in the numbers. "Yeah, this is Julian West. I need you to patch me through to Archives." He then reached over and yanked the amulet from her throat. "By the way, this is a cheap amethyst trinket that isn't gonna' ward off bugger-all. I'd have a long talk with your dear friend Pru if I were you, because I've got a feeling there's a reason why I've never heard of the fearsome Davies coven." He chucked the necklace into the trash bin and stepped out into the hallway.

"Council Archives, we put the 'super' in supernatural," the enthusiastic voice greeted. "How can I help you?"

"Nicola? It's Julian."

"Oh, hiiiiiiii." The librarian's voice descended suddenly from chipper to saucy. "How's everything in the Lake District?"

"Spectacularly bad. But thanks for asking. Why are you in the office at this hour?"

"I know, I know. You're thinking 'it's Sunday, I'd rather be in bed'." Emphasis on the last word, he noted.

"And you're thinking 'it's Sunday, I'd rather be surrounded by dusty old books'."

"It's a valid lifestyle choice," she insisted.

"Fine. Have you found any further information on this inn?"

"Well, yeah," she replied hesitantly. Julian heard the rustle of volumes shuffling about on her desk; "I finally found an origin story on our woman in white, the one that never checked out of Room 34. Her name was Margaret Winfield. She got married in the nearby chapel in 1845, and the newlyweds spent the night in the honeymoon suite, which at the time was Room 34. Only poor Margaret never saw the sun rise on her new marriage. She drowned in the bathtub. Her death was ruled a suicide, but there was speculation that her husband, who happened to be deeply in debt, might have killed her. Didn't help that he inherited a sizable estate and inheritance upon her death."

Julian glanced skyward and closed his eyes tight; several more pieces suddenly fell into place. "So we might very well have a vengeful spirit working in tandem with a vengeance demon?"

"I'd say it's quite probable."

"Ah, but demons and spirits normally do not play in the same sandbox." He drummed his fingers on the wall, puzzling. "I'll bet you a curry there's some other explanation."

"Shall I add that to the pint, fish and chips, and movie that you already owe me?" Saucy, definitely…Nic had something else on her mind besides a playful bet. Naturally, Julian observed the tone of her voice and blew it off. For now.

"Yes, put it on my tab. And for God's sake, go home and get out of that office."

"Oui, monsieur."

Meanwhile in Room 23, Emma wiped away the last trace of her face cream and stared into the mirror. So Shaun was a lost cause, then. Fine, big deal - Little Miss Video with the violent streak could take him or leave him; frankly, she didn't care. Sure, they'd had some good times, and Shaun made her laugh a lot. He could be surprisingly chivalrous, considering his other more childish tendencies. And he _was_ quite heartbreakingly cute; she'd certainly miss their Sunday morning lie-ins. But let's face it - a cuddle certainly isn't anything to write to Cosmo about.

It was time to move on, she resolved. She could get a makeover, buy some new clothes. Perhaps call up Patrick again, that handsome Cambridge grad her mate Susannah had introduced her to last month. The one with the rugby player's body, the Porsche Boxster and the corner office. Yes, absolutely…if she played her cards right, maybe she could be Mrs. Patrick Miles by Boxing Day.

She continued to contemplate her future prospects as she brushed her teeth, and after rinsing her mouth and looking in the mirror again…she saw a figure behind her. A horrifying spectre of a woman in a white dress, drenched from head to toe, tangled strands of blond hair covering her head as it hung down. Emma shrieked, dropped the cup and spun on her heel to see…nothing. There was _nothing_ there.

However, the bathtub faucet was running and the tub had become filled with dark, cloudy water. Oh, for heaven's sake, she thought to herself - you're so wound up over Mr. Not Quite Right After All, now you're seeing things. With a frustrated sigh, she went to the tub to try to pull the stopper and let the water out. Ugh, disgusting…. to think she had showered under the same taps that spewed forth this filth. She'd have to have a word with Mrs. Fairfax on her way out; the rest of their stay, ill-tempered American women notwithstanding, had been lovely. As her hand fumbled in the murky depths, she felt something tug at her arm.

Emma froze, paralyzed with fear; she tried to pull her arm out of the water, but the tugging became more forceful. Before she could make a noise, she was yanked violently into the water, where the dank smell of mold and moss began to fill her senses. No matter how hard she tried to escape, no matter how desperately she wanted to scream…there was not a sound, only a horrific gurgle as her lungs filled with putrid sludge. Emma struggled to escape, clawing at the sides of the tub, but something – someone – was holding her down. It was only a matter of moments before her last breath broke the surface, and her body sank like a stone.

Elsewhere in the hotel, Shaun emerged from the bathroom having come to the conclusion that he'd be a very lucky man if he ever had another shower that satisfying in his life. As Sara blow-dried her hair, he wriggled into his jeans and scanned the floor for his shirt, then it dawned on him - he hadn't checked in since they got here! He dashed to the phone and rang Yvonne to see how she was getting on with the Ed-sitting chore that he'd sprung on her at the last minute.

"Shaun, hi! How's it going!" Yvonne greeted, in her own perennially bubbly way.

"Preeeeetty good," Shaun replied, buttoning his shirt with a Cheshire Cat grin plastered on his face. "Just calling to check in on Ed. Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, he's fiiiine! Dec's out back feedin' him. Mind you, he got a bit nippy at breakfast yesterday and we had to break out the shovel, so now he's got an ear off. But I don't think he took it personally."

"He's got a what!"

"Shaun, really, it's not that bad! Really. I mean, you can barely tell, he's been decomposing a smidge on the left side anyway. It all sort of…" Yvonne stammered, clearly at a loss.

Shaun shook his head; what's done is done. "It's alright, and I'm sorry about that. The…biting, I mean. Listen, Yvonne, I really appreciate you looking after him."

"It's no problem, Shaun. Now tell me what I want to hear - how are things with Emma! Eh, you guys getting out and about?"

Oh, dear. Shaun scratched his head. "Um, yeahhhh. We've been…exploring."

"That's great! Now, you hang up and get back to your holiday, you hear? We'll see you when you get home."

"Okay. Bye, Yvonne."

Sara exited the bathroom, wrapped in the fluffy white hotel robe, her fingers lightly combing through her nearly dry hair. A vision in terry cloth. "Morning," she smiled, crossing to look out the French doors.

"Good morning."

As she watched, a decomposing figure shambled across her line of sight, slowly pushing a wheelbarrow of dirt. "Hmm, there's a girl in the garden," she observed.

"A what!" He bolted upright.

"In the garden, there's a girl. One of those zombie workers," she elaborated. "I know they're supposed to be…domesticated and all, but it's still a bit unsettling to see them around. Don't you think?"

"I guess I've just gotten used to it." Shaun casually leaned back into the pillows, crossing and uncrossing his legs. He wasn't sure which would more quickly lure her back to a horizontal position, so he might as well try both.

"Well, they're not on my 'To Slay' list, so I guess they're five by five." Returning to the bed, she laid down beside where he was reclining and placed her head on his chest, draping an arm across him. _Score!_ "How are you feeling?" she inquired, as he put his arm around her.

"Um, surprisingly good for having nearly been fatally wounded." He brushed the hair away from her forehead. "And you, Miss Wellesley?"

"To tell you the truth? Relieved."

"Why's that?"

"I was beginning to think the next man to see me naked would be a coroner."

He laughed and kissed her lightly on her forehead. "That's my morbid girl."

"It's one of my charms," she asserted. They both lay there in silence, savoring a precious moment of calm. "I'm a horrible person, aren't I?"

Shaun narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. "Having now seen every last inch of you, I can guarantee there's not _one_ horrible bit on your entire..."

"Shaun, _stop_. You know what I mean. I'm the most horrible person in the world."

"You are not. My very recently ex-girlfriend, on the other hand..." He still couldn't believe how callously Emma had brushed off his feelings.

"She did seem like a self-absorbed bitch. No offense..."

"Absolutely none taken, love."

"…I, on the other hand, knowingly seduced you while you were in a committed relationship. I'm a horrible, seductive…manipulative, _wicked_ person."

"Yet I didn't exactly put up a fight, did I?" He tucked his fingers under her chin and tilted her face to look into his eyes. "Sara, what happened last night was no one's fault. It just happened. And for the record?…" He pulled her closer, until they were literally face to face: "…it was bloody spectacular."

Sara blushed, kissing his Adam's apple. "I thought so, too. How sappy would it be if I said that, for the first time ever, I feel like I am exactly where I'm supposed to be?"

"Incredibly sappy. I feel sick now."

"Well, I don't care. It's the truth. Despite some …well, extenuating circumstances, I'm _sickeningly_ happy. This feels right, doesn't it?"

"It really does." Shaun couldn't deny that having Sara back in his arms - even standing side by side with her as they repeatedly took swipes at a ten-foot-tall demon - made him feel whole in a way he thought he'd never experience again. They were such a team. He used to think he couldn't possibly be with her, couldn't stand in the way of her higher calling. Yet if he did the math: First Z-Day, then their old mate Davrok, and now this? Perhaps waging war with the undead was his calling, too…

Sara tightened her arms around him. "When we're together, it's like…"

"Magic?"

"I was gonna say 'train wreck'…"

Shaun smirked. "And you can't turn your back on a good train wreck."

"Nope. I'm just afraid it won't last," Sara continued. "I mean, you need to work things out with Emma, and I don't exactly have the best track record when it comes to relationships."

"It's okay. We'll figure something out."

"Are you absolutely sure? Because I would totally understand if you'd rather date other, less… weaponized women."

"Bollocks," he huffed. "I'd much rather be with a girl who's got my back when things get hairy down the pub on quiz night."

"Well, I do know an obscene amount of art history." she considered. "But I'm serious, Shaun. I really want to make this work. I'll move back to London, I'll leave the Council, whatever it takes."

"I won't let you leave the Council."

"Oh, won't you, now?"

"Nope. Sacred duty…'n all that. You could never walk away from that," he sighed. "We'll just have to compromise."

"I'm game - what's your offer?"

He arched an eyebrow at her. "Will you wear a Princess Leia slave girl outfit on weekends?"

"Well, that depends," she said slowly.

"On what?"

"On whether you'd be willing to wear the white Mr. Darcy shirt?"

"Are you mad! I'd look like a poof."

"A dead sexy poof."

"Well, who am I to argue with that?"

She glanced over at the clock. "Don't you need to check out soon?"

"Yeah. I guess Emma and I will go back to London, I'll break things off with her, and we'll see how things go from there."

"You really think we have a shot at a happy ending?"

"Stranger things have happened."

"Jesus, no kidding. But I dunno, I've heard that happy endings are a myth designed to distract us from the fact that life is a thankless struggle."

"Who said that?"

"Some prat who works in an appliance store."

"Hey, I resemble that remark." He slowly inhaled, trying to overcome his reluctance to face the real world. "So I should probably leave now."

"You should."

"This is me going." He remained motionless.

"You could go in ten minutes," she suggested, nuzzling his neck.

"No, no. I am really going to the door. Right now."

"Fine," she sighed, pouting scornfully. "Scruffy-looking nerf herder."

"Right, that's it," he declared. "Retract that statement, your worship. _Now_." He launched his tickling hands at her sides as she interrupted in laughter, futilely trying to fight him off.

"No, no, no! Stop it!" she playfully protested. He ceased the barrage and she paused to catch her breath. She looked into his eyes and placed a hand on his cheek, gently stroking his chin with her thumb. "I love you, Shaun."

He thought his heart might have skipped a beat. The warmth in her eyes, the way she looked at him with such hope and trust; he felt a bit undeserving of it. "I know," he responded automatically with a smile.

She smiled in return. "Sorry to get all sappy on you again."

"I think I can overlook it. Just this once."

"You should go."

"I know." He gave her one last lingering kiss before heading for the door. "Just promise me that you won't get yourself killed before I can take you on a proper date that doesn't end in violence and terror."

"I promise."

"Right. I'll see you later, Spidey."

"Bye, MJ." As the door closed behind him, she giggled like a schoolgirl and fell backward onto the pillows.


	11. Post Mortem

**DISCLAIMER: New chapter, now with more PeggAngst. I couldn't very well let Shaun stay happy, could I? 'Cause that would be boring. And let's face it, the boy can cry.**

Detective Ashford ducked under the crime scene tape that now spanned the doorway of Room 23, maneuvering expertly around the scurrying police personnel and forensics technicians. This hotel was getting to be quite the trouble spot. And trouble spots needed to be dealt with quickly and efficiently; it was the mentality she'd gotten from her years of walking a beat. Her sharp eyes darted everywhere, taking in every detail. Young couple, from the looks of their bags. City folks. Her fellow detective signaled to her from across the room and she followed him.

"Tell me what I'm seeing, Murphy," Ashford inquired as they entered the bathroom.

"A woman drowned in a tub, ma'am," the young detective sergeant replied matter-of-factly. "Possible suicide."

"But if you were going to commit suicide, why would you wear a robe? Notice her nails are broken, and there are scratches in the wallpaper. Nail varnish smudged on the porcelain…as if she were struggling. Not to mention water splashed everywhere."

"But no external bruising. If someone were holding her down, there would be bruising around the neck and shoulders."

"It is quite the mystery, isn't it?" She turned to one of the forensics people snapping photographs. "I want to know the coroner's findings as soon as he's finished with the autopsy."

"Yes, ma'am," the photographer replied and went back to work.

"She fits the same profile as the recent victims," DS Murphy said, as he and Ashford exited the bathroom and began to methodically scan the hotel room. "Young, single, and in this hotel…"

"Only she wasn't single. This room is registered to a Mr. and Mrs. Anakin Skywalker," she noted, reading from her notepad.

The detective sergeant snorted derisively.

"What's the problem, Murphy?" she asked.

"Ain't you ever seen _Star Wars_?"

"I saw that _Phantom Menace_ or whatever it was. Three hours of my life I'll never get back."

"Right. Well, I have. It's a fake name, idn't it? And not a very imaginative one at that. Anyway, I looked 'em up in the receipts. The room was charged to a Shaun Riley."

"Has anyone seen this Shaun Riley?"

"Not yet. They were scheduled to check out this morning. Her things are packed. His aren't."

"Then I'd say our first priority is to find him. If he's not a suspect, he might be a witness."

At that moment, Shaun was descending the stairs from Sara's floor to his own, whistling Van Morrison's "Moondance" in his present state of bliss. Too late, he would realize that he was in fact in a state of blissful ignorance. As he rounded the corner, he saw the dark blue of uniforms bustling back and forth out of an open doorway. The doorway to his room. His mouth fell open and his heart began to pound; an awful sense of foreboding settled on him as he drew closer.

"Sorry, sir, no one's allowed inside," a policeman posted at the door stated.

"But this is my room. What's happened?"

"Sorry, sir, I'm not allowed to discuss police business."

"Look, this is my room," he repeated, anxiety giving way to anger. "I think you can tell me what is going on in my room."

"Sir, please calm down."

"I will not calm down. There must be a reason that a bunch of bloody uniforms are walking around my room. Now tell me what's happened!"

A slender, dark-haired woman with an angular face and authoritative air made her way out into the hallway. "Sir, can I help you?"

"Yes. I'd like to know what is going on in my room if it's not too much trouble."

"Are you Shaun Riley?" she inquired.

"Yes."

"Mr. Riley, I'm Detective Ashford of the Penrith police. I'm very sorry to inform you, but your girlfriend was found dead about an hour ago."

Shaun stood so still, as if his feet were cemented to the floor, trying to process this news. He felt like he'd just taken another spike in the gut. The world that only moments ago had seemed full of beauty, and hope, and possibility came crashing in on itself, like it had been smashed to bits with a sledgehammer. Had she really just said what he thought she said? "Dead?"

"Yes, sir. She seems to have drowned in the bath."

"No," he said, shaking his head, nearly doubling over. "No, it's not possible. I want to see her." He began to stride into the room, but the detective put up an obstructing hand. A burly uniformed cop, at least six foot four, walked up behind her.

"I'm afraid I can't let you go in there," Ashford informed him.

"You'd better. I don't believe you, she's not dead…look, I need to see her." It made him feel remotely useful, given the situation, to be so confrontational. But all the bluster in the world wasn't making the feeling in the pit of his stomach go away. After everything he'd been through, he knew that feeling too well. Death was near.

"And I'm telling you…for your own sake, you don't want to see her."

Shaun looked the police woman in the eye, absorbed what she was telling him…and began to crumble. "This is…it's not true, she can't be dead. Emma! Emma, answer me!" He tried again to get past her but the tank of a copper behind her stepped forward and wouldn't budge.

"Mr. Riley, I can appreciate the fact that you're upset, but I cannot let you in." Ashford insisted. "This is now a crime scene and we need time to gather evidence and accurately process it. That's the only way we're going to find out what happened to your girlfriend. Do you understand?"

He backed up, slowly, the blood draining from his face. Shaun's back landed on the hallway corridor and he slid to the floor. For fuck's sake, what had he done? Or more to the point…what _hadn't_ he done?

"Yes," he consented, weakly.

"Now, I'd like to speak with you when I've finished up here. Would you mind waiting in the dining room downstairs? Constable, please escort this man downstairs." Her stern expression softened. "And get him a stiff drink while you're at it."

Shaun stared past her into the room, then silently nodded and allowed the constable to help him to his feet.

Meanwhile, Sara's eyes read all the way to the bottom of the page before she realized she had no idea what she'd just read. She sighed and started back at the first paragraph. She told herself to focus. Think demons, dammit… no more daydreams about Smiley Riley rockin' her turntables all night long. Though she wondered why she was wasting her time with these old books anyway. Julian would identify the demon, figure out its weakness, and then dispatch her to deal with it. The same way they'd been doing things for months. It was a system that, despite some minor hiccups - like what happened with Big Blue, whose physical prowess she had to admit she'd slightly underestimated - had worked repeatedly. So why should this time be any different?

While she was reading the same page in Pope Pius IX's _Guida Alla Malvagità _for the third time, searching for a match to the demon they'd tangled with the previous night, the bedside phone rang. "Hello?"

"Where have you been?" Julian snapped. "I've been trying to get hold of you all morning."

"Aaagh!...sorry, Jules," she replied, cursing herself silently. She'd meant to turn her cell phone back on after Shaun had left and forgot. "Something came…up. Why the sudden note of urgency?"

"Things have taken a decidedly bad turn. I need you to meet me in the lobby as soon as possible."

"Okay, I'll be right there."

Sara hurriedly dressed, anxious to find out what was going on but still relentlessly cheerful. She bounded down the grand staircase humming Van Morrison's "Moondance" and met Julian in the foyer. "What's the sitch?"

"I've just spoken with Detective Ashford and informed her of the bodies you found in the chapel. Leaving the big blue fella out of it for now, but I'm not entirely sure we'll be able to keep that from them much longer, either. If what I suspect is going on is in actuality….uh, going on."

Sara stared at the commotion behind Julian, with numerous cops milling about. Two EMPs began to descend the staircase carting a cadaver in a body bag on a gurney; Ashford was behind them, glancing suspiciously in their direction, and Sara craned to see where they were going.

"Detective Ashford? Why is she here? I thought we didn't want to get the PD…and hey, we need to examine that body first!"

"I already have, Sara…" Julian looked far more stern than she'd ever seen him, which was either a gross overreaction or a herald of the worst news possible. Either way, she braced herself.

"So just once I don't pick up my cell, and now you won't even wait for me? Thanks a lot, Jules…"

"You're too close to this one, Sara."

"I'm too _what_!" She lunged forward and Julian forcefully held her back at the shoulders. Stared straight into her eyes and maintained a rational tone.

"It's Emma," he replied. "Shaun's girlfriend. She's the victim, housekeeping found her this morning. Local CID's already on the scene."

Sara suddenly felt light-headed, one arm grasping for support; Julian held her hand as she sank down onto the settee behind her. "No, that's…that's impossible. Was it the demon? Because unless it regenerated another arm, that thing is out of commission."

"I'm almost positive it was something else." He kneeled on the floor in front of her. "Something much bigger than a simple Velkor demon. This is clean. Methodical. Whatever did this came into our world and left again without a trace of evidence. It almost looks like she topped herself, except for…the struggle." Julian's eyes searched her face, perhaps for a sign that she was retaining any of this information.

Clarity came to her in fits and starts. Emma may have been shallow, insensitive, maybe even deserved a good smack in the face. But Christ….she didn't want the woman to _die_.

"Have you seen Shaun? Is he okay?"

"He's in there," Julian replied, tilting his head toward the dining room. "My guess is the detectives will want to have a word with him."

Sara let go of a long sigh and buried her face in her hands. "I don't know what to say to him."

"Then let me handle it." He started walking toward the table and Sara followed a few steps behind. When they turned the corner of the dining room doorway, Sara nearly crumbled to the floor. Shaun sat at a corner table by the window. His hands clutching a glass of water, his cheeks stained with tears…yet there were no sobs. No shivers, not even a quiver. He simply stared down at the tiny mauve flowers in the patterned carpet and took one shallow breath after another.

"Mr. Riley?" Julian attempted.

"Shaun, are you okay?" Sara asked softly. Every fiber of her being wanted to rush into his arms and comfort him, to assure him this wasn't his fault…but she resisted.

"She's dead," he mumbled, ashen-faced.

"We know, and we're very sorry for your loss," Julian stated. "Obviously, we'll do everything in our power to find out who killed Emma. But we're going to need your help. Did you notice anything strange or amiss when you returned to your room last night?"

"Ah, Jules…" Sara began.

"Sara, it's important that we talk to Shaun while the memory is still fresh in his mind."

"I don't think this is a good time," she suggested but was ignored.

"Shaun, you're our only witness. Do you remember seeing anything last night? Hearing anything?"

"Shut it, Julian," Sara warned.

"The slightest detail might turn out to be very important," he persisted.

Sara decided she'd had enough and grabbed Julian by the elbow to drag him away.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she snapped.

"I'm investigating a murder, Sara. That's kind of what we do."

Of all things, she thought – of all the ways she'd ever have to come clean. "Shaun doesn't know anything, so stop interrogating him."

"Well, I'm assuming he was in the room when his girlfriend was murdered."

She covered her mouth and looked down at the floor, muttering, "No, he wasn't."

"How do you know?"

"He _wasn't_," she repeated, insistently.

Julian studied her face and then shook his head. "Oh, Sara – for fuck's sake, don't tell me…"

"Shaun was with me all night, okay? There, it's out. And for the record? _Not_ the way I wanted you to find out! So please, I'm asking you, leave him alone."

"So you reckoned you'd tell me eventually, did you? Well, I suppose that's progress…"

"Don't."

"This is just great, Sara! This is exactly what we need!" Julian snapped. "We have another innocent bystander getting killed because you were more interested in shagging…" He pointed meekly at the dining room…"Captain Wow over there than fulfilling your sacred duty."

Sara's mouth fell open. The balls on this ratty Mancunian bastard! "How is this _my_ fault?"

"This is _your_ pattern, Sara. Time and time again, your persistent carelessness and disregard for procedure have made you a liability to the Council." He began to count off her offenses on his fingers. "You got your former handler killed, you burned down a club, you've damaged countless historic properties, and created a major rift with our Russian allies. And now a young woman is dead because you were distracted by Shaun."

"Oh, I don't suppose Evelyn Fairfax or this Velkor demon had anything to do with it."

"This is hardly the time to be a smart-arse, Sara. I have tried unsuccessfully to be your advocate and get you back in the Council's good graces, but at this point, I'm just trying to figure out who I ticked off in order to get the job of babysitting an irresponsible trollop like you."

She regarded him as he finished his tirade, then drew her hand back and delivered a highly satisfying, swift right hook to his chin that sent him staggering. "Would you care to rephrase that?"

He straightened up and casually dabbed at a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth with a handkerchief. "No," he said firmly. "Look, I am through trying to be sensitive to your conflicted emotions. Emotions that have continually interfered with your ability to do your job."

"So this is you in self-righteous mode?"

"This is me in 'painful truth' mode. You need to grow up, Sara. This isn't all about you, or Shaun. This is about innocent people dying, and it is our responsibility to stop that from happening. Now when you're ready to start acting like a slayer, let me know. In the meantime, I need to talk to Detective Ashford."

He ascended the staircase, and she threw a look at his retreating back. Breathing in deeply in a futile attempt to calm herself, she returned to Shaun. With each step, though, her confidence wavered. It wasn't so long ago that she couldn't take her eyes off him; now, she could scarcely look him in the eye.

"Hey," she whispered, taking a seat at the table. "I'm sorry about just now. Julian tends to get carried away."

"Emma's dead. I can't…I can't believe it."

"Look, Shaun…I'm so sorry. Babe, I'm really…" She bit her lip; maybe "babe" was a little premature. "Shaun…I know this is a horrible shock. But I want you to know that I'm here for you. Whatever you need."

"This is all my fault." He mournfully placed his head in his hands.

"No, Shaun, it isn't! Please…look, there's nothing that you could have done. In fact it's very likely if you had been in the room, you'd be dead, too. And …" She stifled the pleasant memories of the last twelve hours, and contemplated the horror of what might have been. "And I couldn't deal with that. Now we will figure this out and we'll fix it. It's what we do. But Shaun, please don't shut me out. Not after all we've been through."

The nagging urge to try and comfort him was just too strong. She hesitantly laid her hand on his arm. "Please let me help?"

"Sara, I…" He looked at her with red-rimmed eyes. "I'm sorry, I really can't do this right now." He got up and walked away toward the garden.

For a moment, she sat at the table, then stood on shaky legs and decided to rejoin Julian. He was right, after all. Everything had changed in an instant, and this new uncertainty forced her to go back to her comfort zone of violence and horror. So much for being a normal girl. It was time to start acting like a slayer again. Plus, she really felt like beating ten shades of shit out of something at the moment, and it might as well be a vengeance demon.


	12. Missing Pieces

**DISCLAIMER: I just want to start out by thanking everyone for their positive feedback. Sometimes it's easy to feel like I'm writing in a vacuum and that no one will ever see this stuff, so it's nice of y'all to prove me wrong. And real life seems to keep getting in the way of updating this story, so thanks also for your patience. I'll do my best to make it worth the wait.**

**As always, all _SoTD_ characters to the great and powerful Edgar Wright and Simon Pegg, who were busy last week accepting the Saturn Award for Best Horror Film. Woot!**

Julian ascended the stairs, reminding himself to get an icepack for his throbbing jaw, and caught up with Detective Ashford who was still supervising things in Room 23. She dismissed one of the officers and greeted him with a casual smile. Not _too_ casual.

"Ah, hello again, Mr. West. I do apologize, and I promise I _will_ follow up on those bodies in the chapel. But as you can see, this matter takes precedence."

"No, it's fine. I completely understand."

She folded her arms and peered at him inquisitively. "I don't suppose you managed to secure a signed confession from one of the inn's ghosts, did you?"

Julian issued a peevish smirk. "Not as such."

"Ah, well then I think I'll restrict my inquiries to the flesh and blood. If you'll excuse me, I need to have a talk with Shaun Riley."

"He has an alibi," Julian blurted.

"I'm sorry?"

He sighed, not quite believing he was going to say what he was about to say. He really shouldn't – it wasn't in the best interest of the rest of his face if Sara found out - but he felt compelled to do so. He could do her the courtesy of leaving certain details out, though. "Mr. Riley used to do some work for the Council. He was kind enough to consult with my colleague, Helen, last night on our investigation."

"I see." Ashford raised an eyebrow. "So he was 'consulting' until the time that he showed up here around 10?"

"I assume so."

Ashford still regarded him with wary uncertainty.

"Look," Julian continued, "they were probably up working until the wee hours and he didn't want to risk waking his girlfriend, which is why he didn't return to the room until later this morning."

The detective solemnly nodded. "The relationship between Mr. Riley and Miss Wellesley—is it purely professional?"

"Of course," he stated, flatly. "I'm sure you can understand that I can't tell you much about how the Council operates, but I can assure you that our operatives are strongly discouraged from forming attachments to other operatives. Neither Helen nor Shaun would knowingly violate that code."

"I see. Well, I certainly hope you're right," she said, and started off down the hallway. Descending the staircase, she encountered Sara, who was looking decidedly depressed but determined. "Ah, Miss Wellesley. Nice to see you again. I'm sure we both wish it were under better circumstances."

"That's an understatement," she sighed.

"May I ask you a quick question?"

Sara bit her lip and leaned impatiently on the banister. "Sure."

"Your colleague tells me that you were with Shaun Riley all night. Is that true?"

"Yes," she replied hesitantly, physically quite calm, but mentally trying to process all the permutations of what her handler might have told the detective. She doubted Julian would be in the mood to do her any favors right now. Yet he did seem to favor his health…

"Julian told me that Shaun Riley was helping you with research on your current investigation?"

"Yes. Shaun used to work for the Council. He's been…very helpful in the past."

"Did he seem at all upset? Anxious?"

"No."

"There were no problems between him and his girlfriend? No arguments or tension?"

"I wouldn't know," Sara lied. "We just worked together. Briefly. We're not that close."

_At least, not right this second_, Sara thought to herself. She tried to stifle any thought of exactly how close they got last night…

"So Riley was helping you with research from the time he left his girlfriend last night to the time he returned to his room this morning?"

"Yep. I met up with him around 9 last night and he left my room around 10."

"And you're willing to sign a statement to that effect?"

"Of course." _Why not? I won't be signing my real name, anyway, honey._

"Good, thanks." Ashford offered her a weak smile and continued down the stairs. Sara shook her head and continued on as the detective met up with Sergeant Murphy in the foyer.

"Who's the chippie?" he asked of the black-haired woman ascending on the staircase. "Does she need to be…interrogated?"

"Don't get your hopes up, Murphy. She's neither a witness nor a suspect. Although she has conveniently provided an alibi for our Mr. Riley."

"Let me guess: they were 'studying' all night?"

"Something like that. Let's go talk to Shaun, shall we?"

"Lead on, Macduff," he remarked, making a gentlemanly gesture toward the dining room.

Sara watched the detectives disappear through the doorway, and then continued speedily to the second floor. As she rounded the corner, she saw Julian leaning against the wall, calmly observing the action in Room 23.

"Nice of you to join me," he said.

"I didn't have anything better to do," she remarked. "Thank you, by the way."

"For what?"

"I ran into Ashford on the stairs. She told me that you had given Shaun an alibi. Y'know, an alibi _without_ the incriminating details. I'd rather not have Ash treating him like a suspect. You didn't have to do that, so…I appreciate it."

Julian shrugged it off, a little too coolly for her taste. "She's just doing her job. Unlike others I could mention."

"Oh, now who's being a smart-arse?"

"You do realize I should be reporting you to Simmonds right now?"

"As if Michael would ever believe I could be insubordinate," she said. "Besides, you really want to tell him I decked you? After he entrusted you to keep me in line? Might as well resign now…"

"Sara, I can't believe you're not taking this seriously. You don't seem to grasp the concept that you are a slayer. A highly-trained, well-financed instrument of the Church, sworn to seek out its enemies and destroy them. There's nothing in the handbook about shacking up with salesclerks."

"Ah, but there's nothing expressly forbidding it either," she observed. "And you haven't seen Shaun in action..."

"Too much information, thanks."

"I don't mean that, Jules. Jesus. I mean in the field, you haven't seen him put up a fight. Trust me, he's no school boy." Sara allowed herself a moment to imagine Shaun in too-tight school boy shorts – she thought she deserved it, dammit – and moved on.

"Look," she continued in an apologetic tone, "I get that you're upset with me, and I'm sorry, okay? I acted rashly and unprofessionally. It won't happen again."

Julian crossed his arms and remained silent.

"Oh, enough with the 'I'm so disappointed in you' look," she groaned. "You should know by now that I don't do contrite and ashamed. I gave you an apology, take it or leave it."

"Given the circumstances, I suppose I'll take it. So let's get back to work and table this discussion for a time when we're not in any potential danger."

"Fine by me."

"We can't exactly do anything while the CID are working. Perhaps our first order of business should be our spiky blue friend."

"Sounds great, but unless you have an arsenal in one of your jacket pockets, we need a different order of business."

"Trust me, while you were _in flagrante delicto_ last night, I did my research; I know its weakness. Now where's this secret passage to the chapel?"

"Follow me," she invited, leading the way down the stairs.

Meanwhile, Detectives Ashford and Murphy slowly approached Shaun as he sat at one of the patio tables, staring blankly toward the landscape.

"Mr. Riley?" Ashford attempted.

He awoke slowly from his distant gaze and turned to face them. "Yes?"

"I realize this isn't the best of times, but we'd like to ask you a few questions. Just to account for your movements over the past few hours."

"Sure."

"I just spoke with Julian West and Helen Wellesley. They both tell me that you were helping them with a case last night."

Momentarily he peered at the detective blankly, then the pieces fell into place. Nice cover, cheers guys. "Uh… yeah, I met up with Helen after dinner. And I was working with her until this morning."

"Is there a particular reason you didn't return to your room last night?"

"I'm sorry?"

"A young couple on a romantic mini-break, your last night on holiday with your girlfriend before you have to check out and go back to the big city. And yet you choose to spend it researching?"

"I was helping out an old friend in need, detective," he explained.

"So things were okay between you and Emma? No tension, no disagreements?"

"I'm not sure where you're going…"

"Mr. Moran in the room next door told us that he heard shouting coming from your room after he and his wife returned from dinner last night."

Shaun recalled seeing the wedding party that was sharing the hotel with them. How every time he'd seen them, they were having a very good time and not being at all shy about it. "Wait, you're taking the word of a mad, drunken Irishman?" he protested.

"So you and Emma were not fighting?"

"Perhaps the TV was on very loud," Murphy offered. "Maybe that's what they heard."

"No, no… listen. Emma and I did have a fight," Shaun admitted. "She wasn't happy with the way our relationship was going. We came up here to spend some time together, I thought it might be good for us. But she told me that she wanted a commitment; she wanted to move in together."

"You weren't ready for that?"

"I don't know. I just…I wanted to take things slowly."

"Did you love her?"

"What! Yes," he replied. "Maybe. I mean, I loved her, but I wasn't in love with her. That always sounds really cheesy in the movies, Christ it sounds cheesy now." He scratched his head and winced. "But that's the only way I can describe it."

"Do you miss her?"

"Of course. Look, I wasn't ready to marry Emma, alright? But I cared about her, I didn't want anything bad to happen to her either. Not like this..." Shaun's voice quivered and the tears began to well again. Detective Ashford seemed not to notice.

"I see. Did you discuss any of this with Helen?"

"No. Why would I?"

"You two are co-workers. Perhaps friends. Perhaps more than that."

_Right, sod this_, Shaun thought. "Please, detective, I've had a pretty shitty morning and I'd love it if you could be straight with me for once."

Ashford gritted her teeth. "A man doesn't spend the last night of his holiday with a co-worker to do research when he could be lying in bed with his girlfriend. Now why don't you tell us the true nature of your relationship with Miss Wellesley?"

"I think it's dead." Julian peered into the shadows of the hole in the chapel floor. The imposing figure of the Velkor demon lay still on the dusty soil beneath them. Still spiky, still nasty…but most certainly no longer a threat.

"Really?" Sara inquired, joining him at the edge of the hole and tilting her head in confusion. "I killed it? I mean, of course I killed it. Go, me!"

"Not that I'm doubting your abilities, Sara, but I don't believe you did."

"Killjoy."

"Save it. Where was that library you mentioned?"

"Through those doors behind the altar." She led the way into the library. The many shelves of books were still there, but the wall of photos and documents had disappeared. "I swear it was right here, Jules. And I _do_ have the pictures to prove it."

"I know. Rather unsettling, isn't it?"

They used the ladder to descend into the crypt, finding it empty of everything but the lifeless demon and several resident skeletons.

"And now the bodies are gone?" Sara cried, slumping against skeletal remains and leaping to one side, shaking cobwebs and dust off her shoulder. "This is so not my day."

Julian ignored her and began to examine the body of the demon. Dark purple blood had dried and crusted around its amputated wrist, and some of its scales seemed to have broken off. He chalked the damage up to the fight the demon had earlier with Sara and Shaun.

"I'm feeling unfulfilled, Jules," Sara said, restlessly pacing in the small space. "This is very unfulfilling."

"Haven't you had quite your share of fulfillment this weekend?"

"Save it."

"Look, I know you were hoping to beat up on something, but this Velkor is definitely deceased."

"Great, that's one less vengeance demon to worry about. Although I always thought vengeance demons had a little more style, and subtlety."

"This isn't a vengeance demon. That's what I figured out last night; Evelyn opened a portal and accepted the first demon that came out of it. Unfortunately for her, it was a Velkor instead of one of D'Hoffryn's devotees."

"Classy. She should definitely be asking for her money back."

Julian began to examine the area around the demon's corpse. "What is this white substance on the floor?"

"We're in a crypt, Julian. I'm guessing it's several hundred years' worth of dust and decay." She watched in horrified disgust as he raked a finger along the ground and then put it to his mouth. "Okay, _ew_."

"It's sodium chloride," he pronounced.

"What?"

"NaCl. Table salt."

"Yeah, I know my periodic table, Einstein. Why would there be salt down here?"

"That's how they killed the demon. The Velkor lives by draining its victims of all bodily fluids. A large intake of salt would severely dehydrate it, and in its already impaired state, it would have been unable to recover."

"So our demon's dead, Evelyn's wall o' Wicca wonders is gone…" Sara cracked her knuckles, pondering. And still anxious to do some damage, to be honest. "Someone's covering up their tracks."

"It would seem so. But who?"

"Uh, Evelyn?"

"No, this is beyond her. I think I might have made a huge mistake in underestimating our opponent."

"Our opponent? Who's _our_ opponent?"

"I spoke with Nicola again earlier today. She told me the whole sordid story behind our spirit in Room 34. A young bride named Margaret Winfield who was killed on her wedding night. And my guess is that Maggie's spirit was somehow feeding off the demon. But now…I'm afraid she might be flying solo."

"You think Maggie's spirit killed Emma?"

"I think it's a possibility."

"Are you quite done corrupting my crime scene?" Ashford inquired, hovering over the hole in the chapel floor.

"Shit!" Julian and Sara exclaimed in unison, then looked up at the surprising voice. "Ashford?"

"This is the body you wanted me to have a look at?"

"Not exactly," Julian replied. He and Sara scrambled up to the chapel floor to face the detective. "I'm afraid I can't really give you an explanation for what that is. At least not one that you could put in an official report."

Ashford started to look up three times, each time glancing gobsmacked at the Velkor's hulking corpse again, then finally came up for air. "Then answer one question for me: Did that thing drown a woman in a bathtub this morning?"

"No."

"Then it's not important right now."

"Detective Ashford, I don't think you're seeing the entire picture here" Julian replied insistently. "That thing has killed three women, that we know of, and it's probably closely related to Emma's death. Just give us time to figure out how it got here. A violent portal-jumper from an unknown hell dimension can't just be dismissed!"

"Violent portal-jumper, yeah that begs to be put in a report." Sara remarked, patting Julian on the shoulder.

"If you want to open up a hell dimension and look inside, you're going to do it on someone else's patch." Ashford glared at them. "I want both of you on the train back to London before this day is over. Is that clear?"

"Look, we're just trying to do our jobs," Sara protested.

"And you're getting in the way of me doing mine. Whatever your mincing little Council is after is not my problem, but I can assure you this isn't the first time I've seen or heard about something like that rotting in someone's basement."

Sara and Julian both bolted upright, wide-eyed. "Seriously?" Sara gasped.

"Small town, Miss Wellesley. People gossip. Now I can't put ghosts or demons in lock-up, but I can arrest the both of you for obstructing justice. So please stop wasting my time with this supernatural shite."

"Detective Ashford, you are making a mistake," Julian declared.

"No, my mistake was in trusting Council operatives to actually get something done. I've got four homicides, a hotel full of very anxious guests, and a village full of people worried that they might be next. What am I supposed to tell them? Can you give me something that will lessen their fears, that will make them feel safe in their own houses?"

"We're trying…"

"You did try, and you failed. This is my investigation now. Both of you are free to go. And that's an order, not a suggestion." The detective turned on her heels and left the chapel.

"So…we're not gonna' follow orders, are we?" Sara asked.

"No."

"I thought not. Where do we go from here?"

"I think it's time I paid a visit to Prunella Davies, Evelyn's coven connection."

"She's the one who helped Evie get her vengeance on?"

"Apparently. But I'm not so sure she didn't have an ulterior motive. I'll see if I can track her down; she has a shop or something in the village."

"You need some back-up?"

"Nah. She sounds like an old kook with some candles, crystals and a spice rack. I think I'll be fine. Why don't you go get some rest? You look like you could use some sleep."

"Oh, haven't you heard? 'Exhausted and hopeless' is the new look for spring," she quipped. "Anyway, I can't sleep in this hotel." At least not without someone to keep her company, she thought. Sara wondered where Shaun had gone off to and tried not to let Julian see her fret. "You'll call me if there's any problems."

"Of course."


	13. Phantoms

**DISCLAIMER: Strawberry Banana smoothies are yummy. Designing trifold brochures is annoying. And all _Shaun of the Dead_ characters belong to Simon Pegg and Edgar Wright.**

Shaun remained at the patio table for a while after the detectives had returned upstairs, trying to collect his thoughts. He wasn't ready go back to London just now, yet he didn't feel like he could face Sara either. Somehow just sitting at this wrought-iron lattice table, shivering without his jacket in the mid-morning air, was neutrally comforting. Sort of like popping in _Soul Calibur _and beating the shit out of one of the pretty boys for half an hour on practice mode, because you _might_ be arsed to go to the pub, but you haven't decided yet and you're not willing to commit to a full game.

For fuck's sake, Emma was right. He was such a child. Shaun heaved a miserable sigh and folded his arms in a circle, burying his head between; on second thought, considering the conversation he'd just had, he really needed to talk to Sara. But she was probably busy, anyway. Maybe it was best just to go back to his room and see if he would be allowed to collect his things. If he caught her in a good mood, maybe Mrs. Fairfax would give him another room for one night. A small room. A broom cupboard would do.

He stood slowly and walked inside, started across the dining room; though it was completely empty, he could have sworn he heard the faint clink of a china cup against a saucer. When he turned his head to see the source of the noise, he saw a petite woman calmly preparing a cup of tea at a table in the corner. A comforting sight for his sore eyes. But one that absolutely, positively should _not_ be there.

"Mum?" Shaun whispered.

Barbara's face lit up at the sight of him. "Hallo, pickle! Won't you join me?"

Though he felt as if his knees were about to give out under him, Shaun stepped warily closer. "Mum…you're _dead_."

"Yes, I'm well aware of that, dear. Do sit down."

He took a seat, staring at her from across the table. She looked the same as she did that awful day. The pink top, grey sweater and jeans. But no bite, no bullet wound. His hand flew up to cover his mouth and he choked back a sob.

"Two sugars, is it?" she asked, pouring the tea into a cup.

Swallowing hard, he fought to answer. "Um, sure. What…why are you here, Mum?"

"I always did love the Lake District," she said, setting the cup before him and looking wistfully out the windows. "Your father used to take you fishing on the river, do you remember? You were always so disappointed if you didn't catch anything." She turned her attention back to him. "You don't look at all well, Shaun. Are you eating properly? Is Liz taking good care of you?"

"Liz and I broke up, Mum."

"Oh, pickle. That's a shame. She seemed like such a nice girl. Have you found someone new? I hate to think of you alone now that I'm not there to look after you."

"Sort of, there's…someone." Shaun muttered. Then shaking his head, he placed the teacup on the table with a frustrated pout. The living dead, that's one thing…but his mother was most certainly _dead_ dead. "Mum, I don't understand. Am I dreaming this? Why are you here?"

"Oh, Shaun, I don't want to cause a fuss, but I'm afraid that things might get a bit worse around here before they get better."

"What do you mean 'worse'?"

"A lot of people are going to die, Shaun. And I worry about you; you're always so concerned about helping people. I believe you'll do what's right."

"Do what's right for _what_?"

"When the time comes, you'll know. Even if that means…oh, dear…"

Overcome, Shaun finally leapt from his chair and embraced his mother. Holy shit, she felt real, not like a ghost…or a dream. Barbara smoothed the hair on his temple, just the way she used to when he was little and woke up screaming from that nightmare where the Daleks death-rayed Ed on their way home from school and then chased him the rest of the way. "What's happening in this place, Mum?"

"Really, it's terrible of me to ruin your holiday like this. I shouldn't have said anything."

"Mum, just tell me," Shaun insisted, bolting upright and staring into his mother's loving but sorrowful eyes. The sound of a slamming kitchen door distracted him, and when he turned back, she was gone. Shaun looked down at his outstretched hands and quickly folded his arms about him; after a moment to gain his composure, he wearily rubbed his eyes and decided that maybe he should stop in at the bar before going anywhere else.

Elsewhere, the gentle tingle of the bell over the shop door rang out as Julian entered the Spice of Life curio shop on Penrith high street. There was a musty air about it, but nothing looked particularly threatening - books, candles, aromatherapy oils. He picked up a small mason jar and read the label – Toadstool and Bergamot Face Cream. Lovely. He'd walked into the Diagon Alley chapter of the Body Shop.

"Can I help you?" A woman stepped out from a back room, the beaded curtain rattling behind her. She appeared to be in her 40s, dressed in Bohemian fashions, with gently greying hair and violet eyes that seemed almost unnatural.

"Uh, yes, I'm looking for Prunella Davies," Julian said.

"You've found her. Are you looking for anything special?"

"I was hoping you might be able to help me."

"That's why I'm here," she smiled cordially.

"Are you acquainted with Evelyn Fairfax?"

"Of course. Though I know her as Evelyn Bryant. We've been friends since childhood."

"I understand she just went through a rather unhappy divorce."

"Yes. Horrible time for her, but she's well-rid of that bastard. Pardon my language." Something about the way she blushed seemed mighty forced. Julian would wager she was pretty tart-tongued once you got to know her.

"And you were there to lend a sympathetic ear, a shoulder to cry on?"

"It was the least I could do. And perhaps some lavender to calm her nerves." She paused. "I'm sorry, are you a friend of Evelyn's?"

"Not exactly. I'm sort of an auditor. There's been some recent unpleasantness at her inn, and if Miss Fairfax cannot maintain control of her property…"

"Oh, goodness! Oh, but she loves that inn. She's devoted to it. If she ever felt that she were in danger of losing it, she might…"

"Might turn to witchcraft?" he offered.

A serious expression descended on the woman's finely-boned face, but within seconds, it evaporated like mist and she laughed dismissively. "I don't know what you mean."

"Oh, you know, small village like this—people gossip."

Her jaw clenched, minutely. "People can be ignorant, superstitious fools."

"I couldn't agree more." Julian flashed his most charming smile. "Anyway, from what I've seen, Miss Fairfax is a quite capable innkeeper, and I shall recommend that she keep possession of the place. Do you mind if I just look around for a bit?"

"Not at all."

The bell above the door rang out again as an elderly woman with a small Yorkshire terrier in tow bustled into the shop. "Oh, Pru, I need your help!"

"Yes, Mrs. Harmon?" Pru left Julian's side and walked over to the woman.

"Those rabbits are getting into my garden again."

"I'm sure we can find something to keep them out."

While she was occupied, Julian stepped casually over to the backroom, brushed the hanging beads aside and scanned the room. Normal office – bookshelves, a slightly outdated computer, stacks of paperwork…and a small stack of blue triangular objects. He held one in his hand, its blue surface smooth, its point as sharp as any blade. In a flash of recognition, he realized what he was holding.

Meanwhile, Sara lay in her hotel bed staring at the clock and willing herself to get some sleep. Too bad she was wired and it was the middle of the afternoon. She wondered if there were any micro-bottles of booze left in the minibar; she couldn't quite remember how many she and Shaun had drank last night and it didn't seem worth the effort to get up otherwise.

"Trouble sleeping?"

The voice came from behind her. A posh and cynical voice she recognized. One that still haunted her nightmares. Her hand moved slowly and deliberately toward the knife she'd stashed under her pillow. She struck out quickly and lodged the blade directly in the stomach of Malcolm Ryland.

"No….._way_." Sara's mouth hung open in disbelief.

The corpse smirked and looked down at the knife. "Now is that any way to greet an old friend?" He gripped her arm with Herculean force, dislodged the blade and wrenched it from her hand, tossing it across the room. Sara fell back onto the mattress, rubbing her wrist.

"You're not real," she insisted, scrambling off the bed and backing toward the door.

"I'm as real as your friend Will. He _is_ rather obnoxious, isn't he? I never imagined that I would have to spend my afterlife listening to a twat like him droning on and on. I mean, he's just so _annoyingly_ self-righteous."

Sara rushed to open the door, but Ryland seemed to float across the room, slamming it shut and pinning her against it. "I suppose that's where you get it from. Like handler, like slayer. But now he's dead, and soon you will be, too. That'll be another thing you two have in common." He leaned in close and the stench of rotting flesh emanated from his throat, making Sara sputter.

"You don't scare me, Ryland."

"I know. Pity. But there are plenty of other things that do. What you're feeling right now—all that fear and uncertainty? Wondering if you'll be next? If your precious Shaun will be next? _That_ frightens you. You're not in control. You're _terrified_."

"Maybe I am terrified, but I still smell nice. Which is more than I can say for you."

Ryland hissed and hurled her to the floor, pinning her to the ground and latching his hands around her throat. She thrashed as he squeezed tightly. "So, Miss Cross…you lied to everyone, your family, your loved ones, and told them you were dead. I think it's time to make an honest woman out of you."

Sara struggled against his grip, desperately trying to catch her breath. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Sara jolted up in bed, dripping with sweat, her heart beating frantically. Looking around, she realized that she was alone in the room. Didn't give her much comfort, though; Will came back for seconds, and she was certain Ryland would too.

She hauled herself slowly out of bed and shuffled to the door, all the more startled when it opened and she found Shaun on the other side of it, holding a suitcase. He looked marginally better than when she saw him last, no more tears. But still tired. Weary. The weariness she sensed the first time she laid eyes on him, that behind those eyes he'd been through enough heartache for five lifetimes. She battled the urge to hold him for the second time today.

"Hey," she greeted hesitantly.

"Hi. Um, my room is still a crime scene, and I'm not sure when or if they'll let me back in. So I was wondering…" Shaun worried a peeling edge of wallpaper just outside Sara's door with his index finger. "I mean, feel free to slam the door in my face…"

"No, no. Please come in." She held the door open and he nodded, entered and laid his suitcase gently on the bed.

"Are you okay? You look like you just ran a mile," he inquired, noticing her flushed appearance.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Bad dream." She glanced in the mirror and attempted to compose her appearance. When she turned back, Shaun was sitting on the bed next to his things, hands folded. Glancing around restlessly, as if he wanted to get comfortable but didn't think it was appropriate.

Sara felt an equal amount of tension and discomfort. She kept her distance, leaning against the dresser. "I thought maybe you'd gone back to London."

"No, I rang Yvonne and told her what happened."

"You told her we found a demon in the basement of a chapel, that he spiked you, that you bonked me, and that Emma mysteriously drowned?"

Shaun shrugged. "Sort of."

"I kinda' need to know more than 'sort of'…"

"Look, she knows what you do. She freaked out but then I mentioned you were here…"

"I'm here? I'm Helen, remember? Sara is dead…"

"I _know_, Sara. Look, we can trust Yvonne, okay, she's a more efficient killer than me to be honest. Someone's got to look after Ed. And I knew if I mentioned you she wouldn't ask any more questions. She just said 'Right, come home when it's taken care of.' And 'I'm so sorry', and all that…"

Sara closed her eyes as his voice trailed off. "Anyway, I can't go back to that house. Not yet. Too many things that would remind me of her…" He seemed to stop himself short and looked away, then stared her right in the eye, pleadingly. "The police wouldn't tell me anything, Sara. Was it that demon that killed her?"

"Highly doubtful, it's dead."

"You killed it? On you go, slayer."

"I didn't get to do the honors."

"Shame."

"I know. Julian and I found it dead in the chapel this morning."

"Who killed it?"

"We don't know. And with the Velkor gone, we're not exactly sure what killed Emma. But Jules is out on an interview right now," she offered, thinking he might want a change of subject. "He thinks he might have a new lead. We'll figure out who…_what_ did this and we'll stop them, Shaun. I swear to you, we will."

He stared at her, smiling again…and for a moment, she thought it held the promise of something more. But he looked away, and her heart sank. "So much for a well-planned holiday." He stood, grimacing at the pain of the wound from the previous night's fight, and walked toward the patio doors.

Sara sighed, dreading a necessary shift into professional mode. But if he'd been confessing to Yvonne, she needed to know if he'd been as forthcoming with the police. "Did, um, did Detective Ashford speak with you?"

"Yeah."

"I trust she didn't harass you too much. I mean, after Julian gave you an alibi, she wouldn't have any reason to suspect you of any involvement in Emma's death. She'll just proceed with the knowledge that you were simply helping out a co-worker and that you would never have harmed Emma."

Shaun's expression changed slowly to one of slight concern and possible regret. "Ah."

"What do you mean 'Ah'?"

"Nothing." He shrugged.

"No, 'Ah' means something. Does 'Ah' mean that you gave her a reason to suspect you?"

He finally cracked under the pressure of her stare. "I _might_ have told her about us."


	14. Priorities

**DISCLAIMER: All Shaun of the Dead characters belong to Simon Pegg and Edgar Wright. Now that we've got that out of the way, on with the story…**

"You what?" Sara gasped in disbelief.

"I told Ashford about us."

"The words are in English but I don't understand…"

"She was asking me all these questions," Shaun quickly said. "Wondering why I was with you instead of Emma on the last night of my holiday. I thought she knew something was going on between us, she had that smug 'I know your secret' look. So…I admitted that we spent the night together."

"Shaun, why?"

"What's the harm in telling the truth?"

"Because I'm already on Ashford's shit list. In fact, she wants Julian and I on the next train out of town. Now you've given me a motive. Hell, you gave yourself a motive." She paused and ran her hands through her hair, instantly regretting her harshness. "I know that your intentions were good, but you picked a really bad time to start being truthful."

"I had to."

"Why?"

He approached her and took her face in his hands. _When the time comes_, Mum said…_you'll know_. He didn't, to be honest, but he was being driven by gut instinct now.

"Because I decided I'm not going to lie about the fact that I love you, Sara."

For a moment, she allowed herself to look into his eyes and know that he meant it. She'd wanted him to say it, she'd dreamed of hearing him say it, but not now. Maybe later, at a time when everything was happy and stable and the sun was shining and birds were chirping, but not now. She shook her head and moved away. "Please don't say that."

"Why not?"

"Because…this isn't a good time."

"It's never a good time."

"Exactly. I doubt there will ever come a time when we're not being menaced by monsters or mourning a loved one. And that's not exactly a good foundation for a solid relationship, is it?"

"You think I'm not up for it."

"You've saved my life several times, Shaun. I know you're up for it."

"So what is it then? You've changed your mind since this morning? Everything you said about doing whatever it takes to make this work, was that complete bollocks?"

"Of course I meant what I said. Do you think I go to bed with every successful zombie slayer I meet?"

"Then why are you upset with me?"

"I'm not, I just…you're in shock, Shaun. Your girlfriend's just been murdered. You're not thinking clearly."

"I may be in mourning, but I'm perfectly lucid."

"Look, circumstances change. Priorities change. That's part of the joy that is my screwed-up life. But my feelings for you are the same as they've always been. It's just that right now, there is some seriously bad stuff that needs to be dealt with. And if you believe that I love you, if you think that what we have is worth waiting for, then you will understand that we can't have this conversation right now."

"Shame playing second fiddle to a sacred calling, isn't it?" The voice came from the shadows and they both turned to see the fading sunlight settle on the gruesome figure sitting in the chair next to the window.

Shaun let out a girlish scream and backed away towards Sara. "There's a…a thing in your room!" he stammered, pointing madly.

Sara's eyes bugged as they darted back and forth between them. Cute, not so cute…cute, not so cute…

"Hang on, you can _see_ him!" Sara asked.

"Yes," Shaun squeaked uncertainly. To his apparent shock, Sara burst into a huge grin and sighed.

"Whew! Thank God for that."

"What!"

"I mean, I was taking this at face value, y'know? Ghosts all around, what's another ghost even if it's somebody I know? But some little part of me was reeeeally afraid I was going crazy, Shaun…"

Sara poured her heart out to Shaun about the nightmares, relieved that he seemed to be hanging onto her every word. She had no idea that in reality he was miles away: _She was real_, he thought to himself. _Mum was real…well, as real as a ghost gets, I suppose, which is to say not real at all_. But sure as shit, he hadn't hallucinated her. Undead of the brain-eating and blood-sucking varieties he could handle. He wasn't so sure about this…

"If I might interrupt, you've always been a bit mad, Sara," the decaying apparition wisecracked.

"Oh, shut up. Shaun, it's just Will. Will, you remember Shaun, right?"

"How could I ever forget the legend?" he said with a sarcastically genial wave.

"Will?" Shaun asked. "As in your former handler Will?"

"Yes."

"As in your _deceased_ former handler Will?"

"Yes. He's been haunting me all weekend."

"That doesn't strike you as odd?"

"No more than anything else I've seen. Tequila?"

"Two, please."

"Last one, sorry, hon." She tossed him a bottle from the mini-fridge and then crossing her arms, turned her attention to Will. "And you? What the hell are you doing back?"

"I'll assume you mean that in the most polite way possible," Will replied.

"We don't have time for politeness. Here you are claiming to be my self-appointed spiritual liaison, and you don't even know what your ghostly friends have been up to, do you?"

"I'm not following…"

"The spirit of Malcolm Ryland just appeared to me."

"Is that right?"

"Wait, Davrok's minion?" Shaun interjected. "The guy that killed Will, and almost killed you?"

"He didn't kill me," Will corrected. "And he certainly is not my friend. Sara, _really_. Sniveling coward had Davrok kill me, and he did have the unfair advantage of surprise. And a _very_ large broadsword. Takes a fine piece of weaponry to bring me down."

"And here I thought it took a fine piece of tiramisu," Sara remarked.

"That, too," he granted.

"Sorry, why would Ryland be here?" Shaun asked. "He didn't die here at the inn, he had no connection to it."

"Now you're the paranormal expert?" Will mused.

"Be nice," Sara warned. "And Shaun has a point. Neither you nor Ryland have a connection to the inn, so why are you here?"

"Every person has their own set of ghosts," he explained. "Family, friends, exceptionally handsome and intelligent colleagues…"

"Your point, Will?"

"These spirits follow you wherever you go. Sometimes they're visible, sometimes not. In places like this, where the rift between dimensions is weakened, a spirit's visibility is increased. But it's also possible that Ryland was just a physical manifestation of your fears and uncertainties. Did he say anything to you?"

"No, he just tried to kill me, as per usual."

"Sara…" Shaun uttered with great concern.

"Shaun, I'm fine," she said dismissively. "And I think we can all agree that there are slightly more pressing matters here than my warped psyche." She turned on Will. "For instance, you told me that all the resident spirits around here were tortured, lonely souls incapable of violence."

"They were," he insisted.

"Were?" Shaun wibbled.

"Are!" Will crossed and uncrossed his dusty leg. "Are. Oh, alright, were."

Shaun looked at the now-empty mini-bottle in his hand and pouted. "Christ, I'd kill for a fag now…"

Sara momentarily regretted being a nonsmoker but continued her questioning of Will. "Then maybe you could tell us what murdered Shaun's girlfriend this morning. Is one of your phantom friends getting uppity? Did some delinquent teenage ghosts come into town and start causing trouble?"

Will straightened in his chair and took on his patronising-lecturer tone. "Sorry as I am to have interrupted your little lovers' quarrel, I needed to inform you that things have taken a turn for the worse. The spirits that are trapped in this vicinity -- some benevolent, some not so benevolent -- are beginning to declare war on each other. That war is spilling over onto the earthly plain."

"Why the sudden change?"

"Evelyn Fairfax. When she opened the portal to a hell dimension, she provided a channel for all the rage and resentment that Mad Maggie's been building up for almost two centuries."

"Mad Maggie?" Shaun asked, trying to keep up.

"She's the ghost in Room 34," Sara explained. "Margaret Winfield. Drowned in the bathtub on her wedding night, which left her a rather irritable poltergeist with an apparent deathwish for the living."

"Riiiiiight." Shaun's eyebrow peaked; Sara took comfort, he seemed to be calming to the point where he could get his game face on.

"She was feeding off the malevolence that the demon brought into this world, but now she's strong enough to do things on her own," Will continued.

"What sort of things?"

"Not sure yet. But if she's strong enough to kill a human, there's no telling what she might do next."

"Well, there has to be some way to counteract it," Sara suggested. "Can't you unite all the benevolent spirits against her. Y'know, recruit them into the good fight?"

"Afraid not, Sara. I did all my recruiting when I was alive, thank you."

"And you were good at it, Will - you recruited me. And you recruited Shaun."

"Don't remind me..."

"Look, Shaun and I know how to deal with the undead. But ghosts are a completely different matter. Any suggestions on how to fight this Maggie?"

"Proton packs?" Shaun offered. "Max Von Sydow and some holy water? That midget woman out of _Poltergeist_…"

"Anything you didn't see at the movies?"

"Not as such."

Sara's cell phone began to ring. She ran to answer it. "Hello?"

"Sara, it's Julian. Look, I've found something at Prunella Davies' shop."

"What kind of something?"

"I don't have time to explain. I need to call Nicola to check on something, and…"

There was silence. An eerie, unsettling silence. "And…" Sara demanded. "And what? Jules? Julian, are you there?"

"What happened?"

"I don't know, the phone just went dead."

"What did he say?"

"He said he found something at Pru's shop."

"Pru? Who's Pru?" Shaun asked.

"A local wiccan who helped Evelyn summon the Velkor demon."

"Why would she do that?"

"That's the $64,000 question. Maybe Jules found the answer."

"You think something happened to him? Listen, I hope he knows what he's doing, he was quite green when I knew him," Will commented.

"Yeah, well, you're on the green side now, aren't you?" Sara quipped. "Look, my spidey sense is tingling. I need to go." She grabbed her messenger bag, tossing in some small weapons.

"How do we find this Pru?" Shaun asked.

"Wait, no…_we_ don't do anything. You stay here and keep Will company."

"I'm not staying here."

"Shaun, I think I've already done enough damage to you this weekend."

"What damage?"

She lightly poked at his bandaged side.

"Ow! Okay, point taken. But I'm not letting you go alone. This is my fight as much as yours. I brought Emma to this ghost-infested rathole, and even though I didn't love her like I love you, I cared about her and she died on my watch."

They stared at each other, and Sara felt the color rising in her cheeks; Shaun seemed to linger waiting for an answer until he realized what he'd said.

Sara paused to process this, then allowed herself a smile. "Guilt, moral conflict and the righteous burden of responsibility? Careful, Riley, someone might mistake you for a slayer."

"It's just that if we have to face another apocalypse, I plan to go down fighting. Because…" He paused, a flash of recognition lighting up his face that took Sara by surprise. "Because it's the right thing to do. And I'd rather do it by your side." He then nodded toward the window. "Plus, Will is kinda' creeping me out. No offense."

"None taken."

"OK, Flash, let's go," Sara agreed. "And you," she said, pointing to Will, "get your little phantom friends to chill out."

"I'll do my best. Sara?"

"What?"

Will flashed a half-empty set of teeth. "I hope she doesn't turn you into a newt."

"Funny." She wrapped her arm around Shaun's and slammed the door behind them.


	15. Inquisitions

**DISCLAIMER: All _Shaun of the Dead_ characters belong to Edgar Wright and Simon Pegg.**

Arm in arm, Shaun and Sara continued down the stairs to the lobby in search of Evelyn Fairfax.

"So what's the plan when we find the merry widow?" Shaun asked. "Do we go for the 'good cop, bad cop' routine or stick to your 'ask questions, punch in the face' method?"

"Aw, you remembered; that's sweet," Sara mused. "But I think we should stick with casual questioning. As far as we know, the only people she intended to hurt were her cheating husband and his mistress. There's no indication that she planned any murders. Besides, dead guests are bad for business."

"I don't think I've ever interrogated someone before. Not in an official capacity, anyway."

"How did you do unofficially?" Sara asked, pointing him toward the front office when he started for the ballroom.

"What, you mean asking 'Ed, did you stub your joints out on the remote again?' Not bad." Shaun grinned in spite of himself; Sara felt indirectly guilty for bringing up the memory. She tugged at his arm and stopped him mid-stride.

"Shaun, I just want to stress how sorry I am for dragging you into all this. It's really unfair for me to continually put you in danger."

"Look, if you don't stop apologizing you're really going to make me angry," he replied. Bending forward, he cornered her against a tall potted plant, deepening his voice menacingly. "And you won't like me when I'm _angry_…"

Sara chortled. "Point taken."

He continued, "Besides, I'm here because I want to be. And frankly, if I stopped to think about the pathetic state of my life right now, I'd be curled up in a fetal position crying uncontrollably. So believe me, I'm grateful for the distraction."

"Well, then it's my pleasure," she said with a reassuring smile. "Now let's go find Evie, shall we?"

"We shall."

They finally found the innkeeper at her desk, frantically shuffling papers and cradling the phone in between her ear and shoulder, apparently trying to calm a guest's nerves. "No, no, I assure you that the police are wrapping up their investigation and will be off the premises in a matter of minutes. Dinner will go on as scheduled…No, they will _not_ be dusting for prints while you're eating your vichyssoise…Yes, of course. Please let me know if there's anything else I can do for you."

She slammed down the receiver and shot Shaun and Sara a look of frazzled frustration. "What do _you_ want?"

"Miss Fairfax, I realize that you're busy…" Sara began.

"Busy? I've just had four guests cancel the rest of their stay and demand a refund. If news of these murders keeps spreading, I won't have any guests left to keep me busy."

"I understand your concern…"

"Concern? This inn is my _life_. If I lose it, I will have nothing."

Shaun stepped forward and glowered at the woman. "Maybe you should have thought of that before you started casting spells."

"Easy, bad cop," Sara muttered.

Evelyn dramatically rolled her eyes. "Not again. Look, I've been through this with your colleague, Mr. West. I'm not to blame for what's happened."

"Miss Fairfax, can we discuss this in private?"

"I have things to do."

"I understand that your livelihood is at stake, but people's lives _period_ are on the line. Selecting the color of the tablecloth for tonight's dinner can wait."

Evelyn backed off, perhaps taken aback by Sara's stern tone, and she led the way into the kitchen and dismissed the few staffers who were beginning dinner preparations. One young girl lingered, gawking at them as if she wasn't sure what to do.

"_Everyone_, Jocasta!" Evelyn snapped. The girl startled, then scurried over through a set of rubber flaps in the back of the room; she emerged carrying a chain and pulling a hunched-over one-armed zombie, wearing a bib with a glistening piece of organ meat stuffed in his mouth, through the kitchen and out the delivery door. Shaun and Sara stared at the whole scene slack-jawed until Miss Fairfax spoke.

"I received twenty pounds of calf livers that were entirely unsuitable for patê, I wasn't about to waste them!" she blurted, apologetically. Then she focused on Shaun. "You're the man from Room 23, we talked this morning."

He straightened, cocking his head. "Yes."

"Mr. Riley, I am terribly sorry for your loss."

"I bet you are," Sara groaned. "You're the reason that all of this is happening."

Evelyn looked from Sara to Shaun, jumping to all sorts of adulterous conclusions. "Well, I was going to offer you one of the rooms of a departing guest, but I see that you managed to find alternative accommodations. That didn't take very long. Or perhaps the time of appropriate mourning has gotten shorter these days. What has it been—5, 6 hours since your significant other died?"

"Oy, Evie, eyes on me," Sara suggested. "We already know you brought the Velkor here through a portal, whether you want to deny it or not. And I'm perfectly happy to let you take the blame for Emma's death, unless you have other information you'd like to share."

"I told you, this isn't my fault."

"Playing around with dark magic because you were pissed off at your cheating husband. Did you _really_ think there wouldn't be consequences?"

"I haven't done any magic!"

"So when you told Mr. West that your pal Pru gave you everything you needed to summon a vengeance demon, only it didn't quite work out like you planned…that was bullshit? Or just because the Velkor wasn't a very good employee…"

"This is ridiculous." Evelyn paced, avoiding their eyes.

"Maybe if you throw a punch, she'll start talking," Shaun suggested.

"Steady, Riley…"

Shaun pouted, slumping against the metal refrigerator door. "You're lucky my chick's here!" he snapped at Evelyn, who just wrinkled her nose quizzically.

"Miss F…Evelyn," Sara started, fists clenched to restrain herself. "What's ridiculous is that you don't see that you're being used. Now, we've got a very good reason to believe that your dear friend Pru wants to unleash hell on earth, and you just made it a whole lot easier for her. Not to mention the fact that my handler just called from her little curio stand and before he could tell me where it is, something very _very_ bad happened…"

Sara realized that she had backed Evelyn into the chopping block in the middle of the room. "So why don't you tell us where to find her?"

The innkeeper's lip curled and she remained quietly indignant. "You know, your colleague is much better at the interrogation gig than you are."

"Well, my strengths lie in other areas. Are you right or left-handed, Miss Fairfax?"

"I don't see why that—"

"Right or left?"

"Right," she replied.

"Okay." Sara grabbed Miss Fairfax's left wrist and twisted. There was a gruesome sound of bones crunching, and Evelyn screamed in pain, reaching out for support and pulling a bowl full of discarded eggshells to the floor. Shaun winced behind them, wanting to love what just happened but fuck, it looked painful.

"There now. You can still sign your employees' paychecks, but you might have trouble playing the piano for a while," Sara taunted. "Now why don't you tell me where to find Pru?"

"I've already told your friend Julian everything I'm going to tell! If he found Pru, I hope he's polite to her. Or she might rip out his tongue."

"Y'know, Evie, you _really_ need to have every square inch of your ass kicked," Sara declared. "But I don't have time for sport right now."

"This is a democracy, Miss Wellesley. You can't beat a confession out of me."

"I wouldn't give her any ideas," Shaun offered.

"See, here's the thing," Sara stated, kneeling beside Evelyn on the kitchen floor and intently holding her gaze. "Four people are dead, and your precious inn is the only common factor. We've been to the chapel, and all the incriminating evidence which pointed back to you has conveniently disappeared. Now Pru might have cleaned up on her own. But you might have _asked_ her to do it, which makes you an accomplice to murder. Or a co-conspirator, at the very least. And I sincerely doubt that you'll be able to pull a Martha Stewart, waltz out of jail and take back control of this inn, because by then it will have been torn down to make room for a Starbucks."

"Pru wouldn't betray me."

"Are you sure about that?" Sara stood to stroll along the counter, admiring the knives that had been laid out. "I don't recall seeing her around when the Velkor demon was impaling everyone left, right, and center? Some friend she is."

"She…she wouldn't hurt me," Evelyn insisted, gripping her throbbing wrist. "I know she wouldn't."

"What if she's talking to the police right now? Telling them that all of this was your idea, and she just went along with it because she thought she was helping a friend." Sara casually drew the blade of a butcher knife across a sharpening block. "The fact is, Evelyn, someone's head is going to roll over this. Is it gonna' be yours or Pru's?"

"I take that back, um, Miss Fairfax…" Shaun added. "You're really _un_lucky my chick's here."

"Shaun…the 'C' word." Sara glared at him, shaking her head. "Once was okay, but…"

"Right! Sorry." He held his hands up in apology.

"Fine, fine! Anything to make you _leave_…" Evelyn hissed, struggling to her feet. "Her shop is in the Penrith high street. It's called the Spice of Life."

"Much better. And one more thing?"

"What?"

"We'll need your car."

"Absolutely not! How dare you come in here and…"

Sara casually grabbed her right arm. "Look, I don't normally do two broken wrists in one day, but if you insist…"

"No, no! Please! Just take the bloody car! It's the dark blue Jaguar in the parking lot. The keys are in my purse under the front desk."

"Let's go," Sara said, tugging on Shaun's jacket as she dashed out of the kitchen; Shaun stepped over the eggshells, metaphor not lost in the slightest, and smiled at the injured innkeeper.

"Sorry about the mess," he gruffly stated.

"Move it, Solo!" Sara barked, and Shaun beat a path to the office; they obtained Evelyn's keys, rushed out to the parking lot, hopped in and screeched out of the driveway toward the village.

"Oh, it's been so long since I've been behind the wheel," Sara sighed. "And a Jag, no less. Julian never trusts me to drive."

"I can't think why," Shaun observed, clutching the door handle as they swerved wildly around a curve.

"He says I'm reckless. Maybe he has a point. Y'know, I've gotten a speeding ticket from every country in the EU. Except Luxembourg. I really need to do something about that." She considered what they were about to do and decided maybe it was best to focus and drop the flippant tone. "I just hope we're not too late. If something's happened to Julian, I just…"

Shaun nudged a lock of hair away from her face. "You're thinking about Will."

"I know that logically I shouldn't blame myself. But I still do." She shook her head and clutched the steering wheel tighter. "I still wonder what I could have done if I'd been there…if I could have saved him. This life…it's so much more confusing without him."

"Well, maybe that's why he appeared to you. He knew you needed help, that you needed to talk to someone other than Julian."

"Julian's a good man, he is. But Will always had the answers. He was insufferably smug about it, but deservedly so. I feel like I let him down."

"No, Sara. I'm sure he's very proud of you. For carrying on with your work. He'd never blame you for his death."

"Oh, I know that. He told me that himself. But honestly, am I supposed to believe the word of a ghost? How do I even know if it was real? How do I know it wasn't some hallucination, or worse, some mirage meant to deceive or distract me?"

Shaun sat silently in the passenger seat, pondering his earlier encounter with a ghost from his own past. He battled with the idea of sharing what had happened, but stumbled to find the right words; wringing his hands, he tried to lighten the air first. "What did you mean back there when you said I bonked you?"

"Huh?"

"When I told you I talked to Yvonne, you said something something, about the demon, 'You bonked me…' And I was just, y'know…I mean, that's not what you _really_ think happened, is it? I punched your apron, I sowed my oats…"

"Shaun…"

"Nudge nudge, wink wink…"

"Oh, for Pete's sake, you boys and your euphemisms," she groaned.

"How would you say it, then? I'm all ears…"

"Fine, how's this? You made mad, passionate love to me and moved the very foundation of my being." She didn't take her eyes off the road; Shaun would have thought she was being sarcastic except for the even, sincere tone of her voice. Well, maybe she was being a _little_ sarcastic. It was Sara, after all.

"Really?"

"No, not really," she deadpanned. "But chin up, sunshine, practice makes perfect." She threw him a wink and a sly smile.

"Will's ghost has been a very bad influence on you," he said, shaking his head.

"Hey, hey, this is all _your_ doing. I was perfectly happy being celibate and miserable till you came along with your Adam's apple and your forearms and your blue shirt. The fact is, the Council instructs us that anyone could be an agent of evil, sent to distract us from our duties. And as such, I'm obligated to keep a close watch on you…" She took her hand off the automatic gearshift and placed it on his knee. "And for your information?"

"Yes?"

"I didn't fake it. Not once."

Exceedingly pleased with himself, Shaun laced his fingers with hers and scratched his head. Maybe he could find the words after all…

"If I tell you something, you have to promise not to think I'm crazy."

"Sweetie, I've been having lengthy conversations with my dead mentor all weekend. I'm hardly a proper barometer for sanity."

"I think…I saw my mother."

Sara's head whipped around to look at him and the car veered slightly; she righted it and stammered. "Where? When?"

"Just before I came to your room. She was at one of the tables in the dining room. Making a cup of tea. She was there…I could see her, talk to her."

"And your mother died on Z-Day?"

"Yes."

"How did she die?"

"I killed her," he said flatly.

"Oh…oh, God" she uttered. Observing the pain in his expression, she decided not to pursue it. "Look, Shaun, it's really none of my business…"

"No, I want you to know. We were trying to get to the Winchester, and things weren't exactly going as planned. When do they ever, right? Anyway, she'd been bitten, and by the time she told me…it was too late. She'd turned, and I…I had to shoot my mum."

Sara squeezed his hand. "You know it wasn't your mother anymore."

"But when she looked at me…I saw it in her eyes, Sara, she knew me. She wasn't like the rest of them."

"Shaun, if she had turned, there was no saving her. She would have killed you and anyone else nearby. You did the right thing."

"No, I know that. I've spent a lot of sleepless nights convincing myself of that. But now Emma's gone, and we have no idea what we're up against. I just…I'm so tired of losing the people I love."

Sara slowed the Jag to a stop and parked behind Julian's car outside the Spice of Life shop. "Shaun, look at me. I'm not going anywhere. I promise." She slipped one hand behind his head and pulled him forward, kissing him softly.

"You're not?"

"Nope."

"And your big brown eyes and your gorgeous smile and your textbook arse?"

"I'm fairly sure they're not going anywhere either."

"Fan-fucking-tastic."

"Ready to save the world then?" she inquired nonchalantly.

"Absolutely," he replied, a smile spreading across his face. They both took a deep breath…then exiting the car, they hesitantly walked up the steps to the front door.


	16. This Magic Moment

**DISCLAIMER: Alrighty, enough of that boring banter and exposition. ****As promised, here it is - FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT! Well, okay, the beginnings of it. Next chapter, I promise…**

"I don't see anyone inside," Sara observed, peeking through the glass windows of the shop's door.

Shaun wrinkled his nose, shifting his weight nervously. "Well, the sign does say 'Closed'."

"Before 5pm? I don't think so. Something's wrong."

"I really hate when you say that," he sighed.

"Don't worry, I have a cunning plan." She pulled a small booklet from her bag, turned it to a marked page, and handed it to Shaun.

"This is your cunning plan? The _Little Book of Really Useful Spells_?" he asked, recognizing the cover illustration.

"You've read it?"

"Your friend Grayson was kind enough to give me a copy last time I saw him."

"Ugh, that's twice his name has come up now. Twice too many for me. Anyway, this is a protection spell. I need you to stay right here, outside the threshold. If Pru decides to go all Dark Willow on me, this spell will counter any of her magic, okay?"

"Assuming I can read ancient Sumerian."

"It's Babylonian, actually. And it's only four words. Gureme, Neneme, Cheneme, Dodala. Got it?"

"Yeah."

"Then say it."

"Gureme, Neneme, Cheneme, Doberman," he repeated.

"Dodala," Sara sighed.

"That's the bugger." Shaun straightened his shoulders. "I've got it, I promise."

"Good. Now I need you to promise me something else."

"What?"

"If things go pear-shaped, no amount of chanting will save me. So you have to promise me that you'll go back to the hotel, get everyone out, then contact Michael at the Council and tell him what happened."

"No, no way."

"Shaun…"

"Look, I am not leaving you," he declared. "You said you weren't going anywhere, so neither am I."

She looked at him, trying to change his mind, but it was useless; he had adopted his "resolved face." She shook her head quickly. "Fine. I just wish you weren't so stubborn sometimes."

"Right back at 'cha, babe," he smirked. "Be safe, Sara."

She placed her hand on his chest and smiled back. "I will. Stand back, I'm going in." She steeled herself and kicked the door open, crouching at the threshold and scanning the shop.

Julian's unconscious figure was lying on the floor nearby. Sara rushed over and examined him; pulse was normal, breathing was normal. But the enormous bruise on his forehead didn't bode well. "Julian? Julian, wake up!"

He moaned slightly and tried to turn his head.

"We need to get you out of here," she said, gently trying to put his arm around her shoulder and get him to his feet. As she dragged her handler to the store entrance, the door suddenly slammed shut in front of them. Shaun jumped, his eyes wide and she heard him begin to call her name. Then he was gone.

"Shit!" Sara groaned with Julian's weight bearing down on her as she tried to free one hand; she jiggled the door handle but it was locked tight. At least, it wouldn't open.

"Well, well, well," a queer female voice called from the back office. "The cards told me there was a slayer in town. I should know better than to doubt them."

Sara slowly turned around, returning Julian gently to the floor. "Prunella Davies, I assume."

"Correct," said the gypsy-chic woman who emerged from the office. "And you must be the slayer. Have you come here to bring me in?"

"That depends," she casually shrugged. "Have you done something wrong?"

Pru chuckled. "That's very clever. Your friend tried to plead ignorance as well, but I knew _exactly_ who he was."

"What did you do to him?"

"Oh, it's just the usual concussion brought about by blunt force head trauma. He should survive. Any other questions?"

Sara rested her elbow on a stack of books and looked the sorceress over. "Yeah, I've got a question."

"I'm listening."

"Does Stevie Nicks know you raid her wardrobe?"

"Don't waste my time, slayer."

"Oh, I'm sorry, have you got something pressing to attend to? Apart from pushing trinkets and herbs on desperate housewives?" She started toward Pru, slowly. "What are you planning, Pru? 'Cause if it's the end of the world, I'm kind of obligated to stop you."

The woman chuckled condescendingly. Sara bet that made Julian's blood boil, and it wasn't doing much for her either. "Nothing so pedantic. I'm looking for justice. Same as you. To right a centuries-old wrong."

"Now see, my way of justice doesn't involve killing innocent people. _Slightly_ different philosophies there."

Pru spread her arms in a gesture of innocence. "I haven't killed anyone."

"Maybe not directly. But you made it happen when you offered to help Evelyn Fairfax summon a vengeance demon. You set the wheels in motion, you bear the responsibility."

The witch glared at her. "You stand there, passing judgment on me. As if you've always been right. What about all the people you couldn't save, like Will? And Emma?"

Checkmate. "Actually, that's enough about me. Let's talk about you."

"Of course, you didn't really want to save Emma, did you? You're glad she's gone. She was standing in the way of something…or _someone_ you wanted, wasn't she?"

Sara clenched her fists. Pru's violet eyes seemed to be staring right into her soul; it made her feel at a slight disadvantage, which was never a good thing. "You don't know anything about me, or how I feel."

"Oh, but I do, my dear. There's a darkness in you. I can sense it. You try to hide it, you try to run from it, but you need it in order to survive. To do your job and do it well. You simply choose to deny that it's there."

"Is this a pitch for me to switch to the Dark Side? Because I've had better offers."

"You're assuming I have some use for you," Pru dismissed, running her fingers along a display case containing an assortment of crystals. "I can assure you I don't."

"It isn't too late, Pru," Sara said, trying a different tack. "Yes, it was unfortunate that people died as a result of your efforts to help Evelyn. But if you willingly go before the Council, if you tell them that this was an accident and that you never meant to hurt anyone, they might understand and grant you clemency."

Pru cackled, coming ever closer and standing eye to eye with Sara. "You foolish, naïve child. Do you really think that any punishment from the Council could possibly scare me?"

"I think you'd be surprised. We've come a long way since the Inquisition."

The woman feigned warmth and exhaled, patting Sara on the shoulder. "Much as I've enjoyed this little chat, I really must be off. You'll see yourself out, won't you?"

"You're not walking away from this, Pru."

"Then neither will you." With a gesture of her be-ringed hand, a finely engraved Scottish dirk lifted into the air from the wall behind the retail counter. Spinning slowly, its blade caught the light from the windows. Both women watched it intensely; suddenly Pru flicked her wrist and the knife came spinning headlong toward Sara. Gasping, she held up her arm to brace for the impact, but the dirk fell away harmlessly, clattering to the floor. Sara smiled; it was working. _That's my boy, got my back..._

"You might want to work on your aim," Sara remarked, with a slight note of relief.

"Maybe I just need something bigger." She glanced at a rack of heavy books on the shelves behind them, and they toppled onto the floor. Sara backflipped across the room to Julian to shield him from the barrage, and again the heavy volumes were deflected.

"I must say, that is one effective counterspell," Pru marveled.

Sara writhed over onto her knees and stood. "Guess your Wicca just ain't what it used to be, huh?"

"I'm just getting warmed up, my dear."

Sara adopted a defensive stance while unbeknownst to her, Julian came to; sparks and delicate beams of electricity began to encircle them as Pru readied to toss a handful of silver letter openers in their direction.

"Vindo a mim!" Julian called, holding out his hand and drawing a tapestry from the wall in front of them as cover. Sara stumbled back into her handler's arms; seconds later, dozens of silver points jutted out from the tightly-woven fibers. The tapestry embedded with letter openers then fell to the ground.

"Nicely done," Sara gasped, ushering Julian to a makeshift cover across the room, behind another display cabinet. "Are you okay?"

"Bit of a headache, but I'll be fine."

"Good, meanwhile…this chick is toast."

Julian held up an arm to stop her. "Not before we question her."

"You were more fun unconscious," she pouted.

Wincing, he reached into his pocket and retrieved a small blue bone-like object, placing into her hand. "I found spikes from the Velkor demon on her desk. She destroyed it. Along with all the other evidence, I'm guessing."

"Why would she do that? To protect Evelyn?"

"I think she has other plans for Evelyn."

"But why would she save the demon's spikes?" Sara wondered.

Julian shrugged his lack of ideas and moved closer to the edge of the cabinet. "Mrs. Davies," he called out, "you've already assaulted two agents of the Council. I'd suggest you cease and desist—"

Jars on shelves above them began to explode, raining glass shards and an assortment of brightly-colored powders onto them.

"She's not desisting," Sara observed.

"How much longer will your protection spell hold?"

"It'll hold as long as Shaun keeps chanting. He's just outside with a handy Babylonian counterspell."

"Good, I'll go check on him. See if he needs any help. Meanwhile, feel free to use whatever force necessary to subdue her."

Sara issued a satisfied smirk. "I love this plan! I'm excited to be a part of it, let's do it!"

As Sara rummaged through her messenger bag and took a quick weapons inventory, Julian scrambled to the door; through the corner of his eye, he observed Pru lighting candles and chanting with her eyes closed. She must have decided he wasn't so much of a threat as his charge because the door opened this time and he slipped out unnoticed.

"Hello, again," he said quickly to Shaun, who paced the pavement outside and nodded but continued to say the words of the counterspell.

"I hope you know how much we appreciate this. I know you've been through a lot in the past few hours. No one would have blamed you if you had just decided to go home..."

Shaun tried to smile, tried to continue the chant but for some reason his breath was getting shorter. The pain in his side where the Velkor had spiked him….stronger. He began to panic, hyperventilating; he flashed back to Julian's words in Sara's room the night before: _"…__it's impossible to know how you'll be affected…"_

_No, please, not now_; he'd promised to protect her. Staggering toward Julian: "Gureme, Neneme, Ch-Cheneme, D…Do…" he whispered breathlessly, slumping to the ground as the strength in his legs left him.

"I do understand that you have feelings for Sara, that you feel a certain responsibility to protect her," Julian continued, observing the witch's preparation through the glass in the door, his back to Shaun. "But I assure you, she'll be fine. She's been trained to fight on her own. Because really, in the end, all she can count on is herself. It's lesson one of being a slayer. Or is it lesson two? Anyway, let me know if you get tired; I can continue the chant. Shaun…"

No answer. No chanting either. "Shaun? Oh, dear…"

Meanwhile, Sara walked to the middle of the shop floor. She faced Pru down while casually flipping a Viking axe from one hand to another. "Okay, you've tossed a few things at me. I think it's my turn now."

"Spare me the condescending banter. And all your hollow threats. Council operatives aren't allowed to harm mortals."

"I think the Council would make an exception for you."

"You can't prove my involvement in any of these recent, horrible events."

Sara held up the evidence Julian had passed on to her. "Spikes from the Velkor demon—they connect you to the portal-jumper _and_ to the scene of the crime. Plus, Evelyn was only too happy to tell us all about your helpfulness. So what's the plan, Pru? What's your endgame?"

"What? I tell you, so you can run along and report back to the Council?"

"I'm alone. I'm not wearing a wire. It's just you and me, Pru. And I'm just curious. You've unleashed a massive amount of mystical energy. For what? To kill a few women? It hardly seems worth the effort."

"They were miscalculations. I don't plan to repeat the same mistake twice."

"And what's all this rubbish about righting a centuries-old wrong? Did someone make fun of you on the playground? Steal your Barbie doll? 'Cause you don't look _quite_ that old to me. Granted, your fashion sense is totally retro. But not in a good way."

Pru cocked her head to one side. "Tell me, what are you doing with your life? The body you inhabit, does it have any value to you? You wake up everyday, you breathe in and out, you take one step after another. But can you even begin to comprehend the gift that is a beating heart, breathing lungs, functioning bones and muscle tissue? You take it for granted. Just like those women did."

"So what, you thought you'd teach us all a lesson in humility?"

"I don't wish to teach anyone anything. I am merely…shifting the paradigm, shall we say? Letting those who do value life take over from those that don't."

Sara was almost out of patience. "Oh, wait, now I get it. You're just another nutter with a God complex. Which, in my opinion, is surprisingly unoriginal. And even though your intentions sound really noble, I'm pretty sure four homicides is gonna' cancel your one-way ticket to the pearly gates."

Pru glanced at her sideways as she lit the last candle, blowing out the lighter. "Then arrest me. Let's see what happens. Somehow I think a jury would believe me, a fine upstanding citizen, before they'd believe you. A violent, manipulative harlot who would have done anything to get the man she loved. Including murder."

"We're done talking," Sara said through clenched teeth.

"I know the truth hurts, doesn't it? It hurts so much that you don't want to face it." The witch calmly lifted a velvet bookmark from a large volume inscribed with a pentagram and continued. "You don't have the strength or the courage to do so. You never have. So you run away, move on. Again and again. So that you won't have to look into the faces of all the people you've disappointed."

She paused, grinning malevolently at Sara. "Are you going to disappoint Shaun next?"

"I said we're _done_." Sara spun on the ball of her foot and flung the axe at Pru, who caught it with surprising ease.

Pru regarded the weapon, its blade glistening in the light as she turned it. "Yes, I believe we are."

Instantaneously she hurled the weapon back. The blade was still spinning when Sara realized it wasn't being deflected by the counterspell. There was no time, no moment to consider what might have happened if Shaun stopped chanting; she jumped quickly to the side, but the axe caught her upper arm and tore a bloody gash. Sara cried out, reflexively placed her hand on the wound and looked back in shock at Pru, who sneered triumphantly.

"Or perhaps…it's Shaun's turn to disappoint _you_."


	17. Bewitched, Battered and Bewildered

**DISCLAIMER: Xena versus Calisto. Buffy versus Faith. Ripley versus the Alien Queen. Tonya Harding versus Nancy Kerrigan. And now, Sara versus Pru in my attempt at the Best. Girlfight. Ever. Enjoy!**

Before either of the women could make their next move, the front door of the shop burst open.

"Sara, we have a situation!" Julian called urgently from the doorway.

"I know!" Sara replied, the fresh wound fiercely stinging in her arm. But she remained focused on her target until she heard a familiar, pained groan. She turned to see Julian drag Shaun into the shop and lay him on the floor. Shaun was a distinctly whiter shade of pale, his limbs convulsing. When his eyes opened, they were bloodshot and an eerie, insipid shade of blue.

She started toward Shaun but stopped short, turned menacingly on Pru. "What did you do to him!"

"Absolutely nothing," the witch claimed, casually walking closer. "But frankly, I never thought he'd shut up."

"How did--?" Sara didn't have time to react before Pru landed a surprisingly forceful backhand punch across her jaw.

"Not so tough without your protection spell, are you?" she hissed.

Sara wiped a drop of blood from her lip. "Look, Mrs. Davies, I don't want to hurt you."

"Not a problem." A swift uppercut sent Sara flying across the room where she slammed into a bookshelf. Coughing, aching like mad, Sara determinedly got to her feet.

"I _said_ I didn't _want_ to hurt you." She spun and delivered a roundhouse kick to Pru's side, sending the woman stumbling backward. "Didn't say I wouldn't."

"Sara, I don't know what's wrong with him," Julian said in a worried tone.

"Julian, please do something!" Sara's voice began to thrum with worry; Shaun had begun to shiver and perspire, and he was beginning to look disturbingly like Frodo after he'd been stabbed by the Witch King. "_Try_ to do something, I've got to deal with Witchy Pru over here."

At that moment, Witchy Pru took the opportunity to sneak up behind Sara and place a tightly wound scarf around her throat. Choking her, she elevated a few inches of the floor and spiraled them around wildly; Sara was hurled against a cabinet. She countered by thrusting her elbow backward into Pru's face. The witch loosened her grip and stumbled backward. Sara tried to throw a right hook but Pru blocked it and gripped Sara's fist hard until she screamed with agony. Furious, she spun around to kick Pru in the stomach, knocking her off balance.

Grabbing an iron candlestick from a nearby shelf, she tried an overhead swing at Pru's head but she ducked aside. Still Sara managed to connect an uppercut to Pru's chin on the second try. Shaking off the impact, Pru kicked the candlestick out of her hand, caught Sara's arm and flung her across the room, slamming her into another bookshelf.

Pru held out her hand, and an ornately carved walking stick flew into her grip. She swung it at Sara's head, but she dodged the blow. Catching the end of the stick, she thrust it into Pru's stomach. Wresting the stick from Pru's hands, she swung it upward and connected with Pru's jaw. Pru held up her hand again, commanding an amethyst bookend to fly across the room and connect with Sara's head, knocking her to the floor. Sara struck out with the stick, taking Pru's legs out from under her and she hit the floor as well.

Scrambling to her feet, Sara tried to make a run for her messenger bag but Pru moved just as quickly. She slammed into Sara's side and together they went tumbling over a display table of herbology books, crashing to the floor. Pru got the upper hand and placed her hands around Sara's neck, squeezing tightly. Sara struggled against her grasp, finally taking Pru by the hair and forcefully pushing her aside.

"A little help over here?" Sara called out to Julian.

"I'm a bit preoccupied at the moment," he replied, frantically trying to locate a healing spell in the _Little Book of Really Useful Spells_.

Sara unleashed the dagger from her leg holster and spun around to face Pru, but Pru held up a thick volume of _1001 Things To Do With Rosemary_ to block Sara's blow. The dagger embedded in the book, Pru tossed it aside and delivered a roundhouse punch to Sara's face. Grabbing Sara's arm and pinning it behind her, she spun Sara into another bookcase and then over to the candlelit altar. Laying a hand aside her face, she tried to push Sara down into a candle's flame.

The heat on Sara's face grew unbearable as the flame came closer. But she used her free hand to grab another candle and thrust it at Pru's cheek. Screaming in pain, she released Sara. They continued to exchange punches, until Pru caught Sara's arm and flung her over the retail counter. For a moment, she lay there dazed until the sound of footsteps came around the counter.

Sara feigned exhaustion until the very last second…then grabbed a nearby box and chucked it at the approaching Pru, who dodged it nonchalantly. She latched her hand around Sara's throat like a vice and hoisted her to her feet, pinning her against the wall. "This is all pointless, slayer," Pru whispered. "You said it yourself, the wheels have been set in motion. The prophecy will come to pass, and there's nothing you can do about it."

"Yeah, well, most prophecies aren't worth the papyrus they're printed on." Sara brought her knee up into Pru's side, knocking the wind out of her. She smacked Pru's hand aside, concentrated all her rage into her right fist and then delivered a powerful blow to Pru's jaw. The witch faltered, and she took the opportunity to grab Pru's arm and toss her back over the counter.

"Sara!" Julian hollered. "He's….oh, my _God_."

"Just hold on!" Sara shouted. Pru got to her feet again quickly, but Sara slid across and kicked at Pru's head. Unbelievable, she fought like a woman half her age, Sara thought. She grabbed Pru by the hair, smashing her face into the glass display and shattering it. Pru threw her head back into Sara's face, causing her to let go. She started quickly for her office door, but Sara tackled her to the ground. Pinning Pru to the floor with her knee, she used the scarf that she'd been choked with earlier to bind her captive's hands behind her back.

"This won't hold me," Pru spluttered.

Sara roughly pulled her up to a sitting position and kicked her against the counter. Blood oozed down her face from what might have been a broken nose.

"Prunella Davies," Sara began, in between struggles to catch her breath, "I am bringing you in for questioning in regards to the deaths of Carol Anne Barrett, Tara Farrell, Dana Jensen, and Emma…Emma…"

"You don't even know her name," Pru taunted.

Sara glared at her in order to cover the slight tinge of guilt. "You have the right to remain silent. I'd suggest you use it."

"I don't have anything to say. And I could use a rest. I just think it's amusing that you'd rather read me my rights than watch your boyfriend take his last breaths."

Sara spun around to where the men were huddled in the corner and rushed to Shaun's side. If anything, he was getting worse. "Julian, help him!" she pleaded.

"I've tried."

"We're in a magic shop! Can't you whip up a spell or something?"

"I can't if I don't know what's causing this!"

"Clearly he's been jabbed by a Velkor demon," Pru chimed in, recognizing the symptoms. "Shame I'm tied down, I could conjure up a potion that would save him."

Julian saw the hope in Sara's face and moved quickly to give her a reality check. "She's lying," he declared.

"What if she isn't?"

"She just tossed you like a rag doll around this shop. Do you really think she's trustworthy?"

"Jules, if you start up the counterspell again she won't…" Suddenly the truth dawned on Sara, and she turned back to Pru with an icy glower.

"You _knew_. You knew this would happen, didn't you?" Sara scrambled back over to the counter and slammed Pru's head against it.

"Sara!" Julian shouted. "That's enough!"

"Shut _up_, Jules!" She gripped the witch's face tightly, but Pru remained indignant. "You know everything else about me, like what happened to Will…did your little tarot tell you? Huh? That I'd track you down and you'd need leverage against me?"

"Mr. Riley had an _accident_…but a fortuitous one, nonetheless." Pru continued her diagnosis, nonplussed. "As it is, his innards will probably liquify in about fifteen minutes. That's the fast part; the bit where he goes comatose and starts to grow a whole new set of demon organs takes days upon days."

Sara removed her dagger from the book in which it was embedded and started to undo Pru's bonds, but Julian grabbed her hand. "Are you mad! We can't let her loose, she'll escape."

"I am not going to let Shaun die!"

"Sara, I know you don't want to hear this, but if his death is necessary to save the lives of hundreds of others, then you will have to deal with that."

"No, I won't."

"If you want to commit career suicide, that's fine. But you are not taking me down with you. Now I am taking Mrs. Davies into custody, and Shaun will just have to deal with the hand that fate has dealt him, all right?"

"You honestly think I'm worried about my career right now?"

"I think you should be."

Sara sighed, reared back and decked him for the second time - this time knocking him out cold. "Like I said, you were more fun unconscious." She roughly pulled Pru to her feet and placed her dagger at the base of her spine. "You were saying something about a potion?" she demanded.

"Why should I help you?"

"Because if this blade were to slip about two inches, it'll sever your spinal cord and you will be doing your errands on the back of a broomstick, savvy?"

"You're bluffing."

She glanced at the prostrate form of Julian on the floor. "I just knocked him out cold, and he was my friend. What do you think I'll do to you?"

"Fine. I'll help your dying friend. But I want immunity."

"You get nothing unless Shaun lives. Do we have a deal or not?"

"We have a deal," she consented.

Pru moved to one side, a little too quickly for Sara's taste, and she grasped the witch's shoulder and pressed the cold edge of the blade to the small of her back. "Hey! This isn't a game…"

"I _have_ to get to my supply closet," Pru stated flatly. "I can't just conjure the potion out of thin air. I'm not _that_ powerful." Sara ignored the ridicule in her voice and allowed her to lead them slowly into the office in back.

Pru flipped on a dragonfly lamp by the door; Sara startled with every noise. The witch pulled a chain and a lone light bulb flickered on above; there were about a dozen shelves containing innumerable vials and flasks and jars and boxes, all marked with labels. Some of them in Theban alphabet, some in English...a few of them bubbling. Sara didn't _even_ want to know. Pru filled her arms with items and retrieved a small, green velvet pouch from a bottom shelf.

"Groovy, is that it?" Sara asked impatiently.

"Yes."

"Fabulous…now move it." They re-emerged into the shop; Shaun was now doubled-over on his side, shivering. His skin had taken on a faintly blue hue; Sara pushed Pru over to her little Wiccan candle display, blinking away a tear, desperate to conceal her anxiety.

"Please relax, he will be quite alright," Pru said, back to the fake matronly tone of voice as she opened her spell book.

"Hello! Screen wipe, new scene. I'm not about to relax around a woman who wants me dead," Sara observed. "Anyway, I don't see how you can be so casual when this is all your fault." She watched as the witch removed what looked like a large suitcase from the cabinet below and took from it a portable gas burner.

Sara raised an eyebrow. "No more cauldrons? Not exactly practical for the Wicca on the go, I guess."

"It's not that I don't have an appreciation for the old ways, but this is much faster," Pru replied, turning it on. "And cleaner. We want it to work, he doesn't need an upset stomach on top of things." She began to grind what looked like a small, eggplant-colored root vegetable into a paste, scraping the result into the bottom of the beaker and pouring in a small measure of orange liquid from one of the vials.

"You know, I ought to take offense, Miss Wellesley…or should I say, Miss Cross?"

Sara's knuckles whitened on the blade handle. This stranger's insider knowledge was thoroughly unsettling. "Why is that, Mrs. Davies?"

"Because you are just as much to blame as I am for Mr. Riley's condition," she countered. "If you hadn't given in to your foolish desires and allowed him to come with you on your exploration of Evelyn's inn, you mightn't have found the chapel, hence you wouldn't have found the Velkor, Shaun wouldn't have been stabbed….none of it would have happened."

"Don't patronize me with chaos theory, Morgan Le Fey. Less chatting, more chanting," she advised. Sara pushed a jar of odd-looking mushrooms on Pru, who chortled and pushed them aside in favor of an indigo flask.

"I can't really say that I'm surprised, though. You've become very adept at shifting the blame for your shortcomings onto others. It's a well-honed defense mechanism."

"Yeah, well, I have some other defense mechanisms I'd be happy to show you," Sara muttered.

"Whether you believe it or not, I'm trying to save you from yourself. I know you think everything will change now that you've been…_intimate_ with one another." It was clear now that Pru wanted her to lose her temper, but Sara was resolute. She _couldn't_ go mental, for Shaun's sake. She pursed her lips and looked over at his quaking figure on the floor, letting the witch continue.

"You feel as though now you've revealed the extent of your love for him, that everything will fall into place. But let's be honest, Sara, your life experience in particular should have taught you that nothing is ever so simple. You don't find it the least bit disturbing how quickly Shaun has moved on from Emma?…"

"Very nice. Keep pushing my buttons," Sara chided. "I'll be punching yours later."

"I only think it's fair, since you want me to help him, that you be prepared for the consequences." Pru sprinkled a handful of herbs into the boiling antidote and clucked her tongue. "A few orgasms at long last won't prevent him from doing what all men inevitably do. He _will_ tire of you, no matter how spectacular and fulfilling a life together you promise him. And he will move on. I can only hope that one day, saving his life won't prove to have been a waste of your time and energy."

Now Sara was just sick of hearing this twat flap her lips; she whipped Pru around to face her and lodged the blade of her dagger directly under the witch's jugular. "Y'know, for such a 'girl power' feminist, you don't seem too guilt-ridden about the deaths of four innocent women."

"As I said, their deaths were accidents." The witch lifted the green velvet sachet and leered back, unfazed. "And unlike some people, I learn from my mistakes. Mr. Riley abandoned you once. Are you really foolish enough to think he won't do it again?"

"Shaun isn't like other men," she insisted.

"Such blind faith. I'm very much looking forward to the day when you learn you've misjudged him." The two women glared at each other for what seemed like forever, until a pained and mournful sound escaped from the corner.

"Shaun!" Sara held the dagger firm but her voice wobbled. "Babe, it's going to be okay…"

"If you insist on saving him, might I be allowed to finish?" Pru inquired, coldly. Sara stifled her ire and turned the witch back toward her rumbling concoction. Turning off the burner, she opened the green pouch and carefully poured a thimble full of shimmering, iridescent crystals into the mixture; under her breath, she began to chant. Sara couldn't quite make out the words, but suddenly there was a burst of light, a plume of silvery smoke. The liquid turned from a bubbling sludgy goo to a clear, still liquid instantaneously. Too clear.

"How do I know this isn't an elaborate hoax and that's tap water?" Sara asked.

"I suppose you'll just have to trust me, slayer." Pru lifted the beaker and handed it to Sara, who flinched. "It's alright, you'll find it's quite cool."

"You give it to him," she instructed with a nudge of her blade. They walked over to Shaun and, each cautious of the other, kneeled before him on the floor. Pru continued to chant, quietly, turning him over onto his back. She opened his mouth; lifting his shirt, she tore gingerly through the bandage and revealed his wound. It had swollen and turned a violent purple, pulsing like a cocoon; Sara sniffled and looked away.

"Trust me," the witch repeated. She placed one jeweled hand on Shaun's wound and slowly lifted the beaker's spout to his mouth. The liquid went in; without warning, she fixed both hands on his face, pinching his nose and mouth shut.

"What the _fuck_…_Stop_!" Sara exclaimed.

"He has to swallow it!" The witch held firm as Shaun struggled and at last ingested the antidote. Immediately, the convulsions stopped; his limbs went slack. Overwhelmed with relief, Sara rushed forward and pushed Pru out of the way.

"Shaun? Shaun, can you hear me?" He groaned; Sara snatched the scarf from where it had fallen on the floor and mopped the sweat off his brow. She didn't like it that he wasn't opening his eyes. "Come on, you have to wake up now, Riley. Wake up, _please_ wake up…"

And then, at last, he opened them. And Sara wished he hadn't.

"Oh, Jesus…._NO_!"

Sara hardly had a moment to react to the blueness – complete icy-pale blueness, save for a pinpoint of a pupil – of Shaun's eyes. Nor the spike-like protrusions that ratcheted up the sides of his face in seconds, or the almost instantaneous deepening of his skin tone to a sickly familiar shade of blue. No time to react because with a hollow roar, his body launched off the ground and gripped her tightly by the throat.

"Sh..Shaunn…nggghgh….p-p-lease!" Sara's feet kicked out, pinned against the book stacks, her hands tearing at his hand; she felt his fingernails lengthen, sharpen, and dig into the back of her neck. Every emotion surged through her – shock, fear, anger at Pru who she could no longer see but who was probably in the corner loving every second of this. But mostly sadness… that with tears streaming down her face, she looked into those eyes and didn't see a shred of recognition that he knew what he was doing. And that meant Shaun – _her_ Shaun – was as good as dead.

His _literally_ demonic smile was the last thing she saw before it all went black.


	18. Resolutions

**DISCLAIMER: So it's the summer of reality television, and we're still ripping off ideas from the Brits. It all started with _Trading Spaces_ and _American Idol_ and _Big Brother. _Now we've got _Ramsay's Kitchen_ and _Dancing With The Stars_. Personally I'm waiting for the US version of _Regency House Party_. Because living in an English manor house and acting like a submissive, emotionally-repressed woman of the late 1800s? I would so win that. **

**Anyway, on with the story and resolving that pesky cliffhanger…**

When she came to, Sara thought it was all over. As in a halos and harps, cherubs and clouds, gates-of-St.-Peter way. She _thought_ it was for a second because she heard a voice from above.

"Well done, Mr. Riley…you bought me just enough time."

Sara coughed hard and struggled to raise up on her elbow, tossed her hair back and looked up; the first thing she saw was Shaun. Slumped backward against a stack of books, he had a healthy pink skin tone returning. His eyes were his own…but filled with fear as he looked from her on the ground to his own hand, the fingernails retracting to normal.

"Sara?…" he asked, his face rife with confusion and horror. Maybe it was a combination of these feelings, or just the sight of his half-demonic hand, but Shaun fainted dead away.

"Shaun, thank God, what did… _You_." Sara was still struggling to get to her feet when she remembered the voice from above and looked up. Pru had used the time while he was choking her to climb up into the rafters, a leather satchel in one hand.

"I'm so sorry, Miss Cross, I neglected to tell you about the side effect. The antidote speeds up the transformation process very briefly before it begins to reverse it. Ordinarily the victim is to be tied down, but you see…if he hadn't distracted you for a moment, I wouldn't have caught my ride."

A spark of violet light seemed to flash across her eyes and thunder clapped outside; Sara gently laid Shaun on the floor, placed a book under his head and bolted to her feet. The air around her grew still, the sudden silence oppressive. Sara was totally unnerved; it was _too_ calm.

"Don't try to follow me, slayer," Pru warned. "You and your beloved shop boy won't be so lucky next time."

There was a creak, like a tree-branch in the wind…and then….._BOOM!_

The roof of the shop exploded upward with deafening noise. More jars and crystals and Wiccan paraphernalia was violently scattered and shattered. A few seconds was all Sara had to drop and cover Shaun, protecting him from falling debris. Something…_invisible_ had punched through the roof of the shop and snatched Pru out of the rafters.

When it was over, Sara lifted her dusty hair and looked around; a faint green vapor trail lingered where the witch had been sucked out into the twilight. Julian sat up in the corner, dazed and groaning with pain, and Shaun hacked and coughed and curled up into her lap.

Stepping gingerly over the debris, Julian made his way over to Sara. He wearily leaned against the wall and slid down to the floor. "So…did I miss anything?"

"Well, after I decked you…sorry about that, by the way…"

"I'm getting used to it. Go on…"

"Pru kept her word and cured Shaun, but he went über-demon and tried to throttle me, only then he changed _back_ and then Pru gave her shop a new skylight and now she's AWOL."

"Just another day on the job, huh?"

"Exactly," she remarked, stroking Shaun's hair. "How long shall we say before the police arrive on the scene?"

"Hmm, small town, easily mobilized units—5 minutes?"

"A disturbance call that isn't terribly urgent, plus the distraction of the homicide investigation at the hotel—I'm thinkin' 10."

"Five quid?"

"You're on."

Eight minutes later, several squad cars from the Penrith police had the shop surrounded. Ashford was the first one through the door and she dramatically rolled her eyes when the smiling faces of Sara and Julian were illuminated by her flashlight. Julian insisted that Shaun needed medical attention, so a group of paramedics ushered him back into Pru's office while Sara and Julian joined Ashford outside the shop.

Sara sat resignedly on the stairs as a paramedic tried to patch up her wounds. "Ow! Ease up, Florence Nightingale," she snapped.

"Should I even bother asking?" Ashford sighed.

"You wouldn't like the answer."

"Oh, I'm certain of that. But I haven't had a laugh all day. So why don't you two tell me how Prunella Davies' shop suddenly looks like it was hit by the Blitz?"

Sara and Julian exchanged glances. "Do you want to tell her or should I?" Julian asked.

"Haven't I been through enough today?" Sara whined.

A uniformed officer exited the shop and approached with Sara's messenger bag. "Guv, we found this inside."

"Hey, be careful!" Sara cried. "That's my…uh, that's my collection of…um, rare lithographs."

Detective Ashford started to empty its contents. "Do you have a permit for these weapons, Miss Wellesley?"

Julian interjected, "She's a Council operative, detective. She's licensed to carry many sharp objects."

"Knives…is this a trident?"

"It's a sai."

"A spiky thing on a chain…"

"Hey, that is a Hanwei Morning Star Flail. It's very rare," Sara pointed out.

"Another knife…"

"That is a flamberge, I'll have you know. It was given to me a shaman in Malaysia after I saved his daughter from a cult that wanted to sacrifice her."

"Regardless, all of these are going into evidence."

"Oh, come on!" Sara protested. "Julian, do something."

Julian sighed and lifted an ice pack back onto his skull. "Detective Ashford, we still have things that need to be dealt with."

"Then you will do so without the illegal weapons," she declared. "And need I remind both of you about my suggestion to leave all this to us?"

"Like I said, we have unfinished business."

"Like assaulting an old lady and destroying her property?"

"Hey, hey! She did this to _me_!" Sara cried, pointing to her multiple bloody wounds. "Not to mention using my boyf…my partn…my _Shaun_ as a puppet to nearly strangle me so she could go all _Forgotten_ and escape through the roof."

"You expect me to believe that?" Ashford asked.

"Prunella Davies is not the sweet eccentric that you think," Julian stated.

"Well, I haven't run into _her_ at two crime scenes in as many days. I wouldn't be so eager to cast stones, Mr. West."

Sergeant Murphy then approached with the news that Mr. Riley had been stabilized – in fact, he'd improved dramatically. He was being cleaned up in the back office if she wanted to question him. "Just give me a minute, Murphy," she said.

Sara's pleading eyes turned to Julian.

"Alright, alright, I'll go check on him," he consented.

"Wait, we're not done here," Ashford protested.

"Council business, detective. And I'm not gonna' do a runner, I swear I won't leave the building."

"Unless that…thing that gave Pru a lift comes back, then stick your leg out and whistle," Sara remarked, only half-joking as Julian disappeared inside.

"You seem in an unusually chipper mood, considering," Ashford remarked.

"Yeah, well…there's a crazy witch who just did an Agent Smith all over me out there somewhere and I have no idea how to stop her." She winced while holding a towel to a still-bleeding cut on her forehead. "But I'm alive, and Shaun's alive…I'm trying to look at the bright side these days."

"So go on then, I'm all ears. Feel free to spin your little yarn about what happened here," the detective offered, ready with her notebook but doubting that she'd be keeping any record of this conversation.

"Okay, remember big, blue spiky thing back in the chapel?"

"Vaguely."

"It is…was a Velkor demon. Brought into this dimension by Evelyn Fairfax, who was given the means to do so by Prunella Davies. And we're not sure exactly why."

"So you and Mr. West came here to question Mrs. Davies?"

"Yes."

"Does the process of questioning have a different meaning to the Council?"

"Hey, we were perfectly willing to have a civil conversation over a cup of tea, but Pru…she was more interested in tossing axes at me."

"You believe that Pru is connected to the missing women at the Eden River Inn?"

"We know she is. That inn is a chilled bottle of evil, and Pru is only too happy to pop the cork on it."

"Much as I enjoy your metaphors, Miss Wellesley, I hardly think an elderly shopkeeper can be held responsible for these recent events."

"So you plan to go on ignoring this particular problem until it swims up and bites you on the ass?" Sara snapped. "Metaphorically speaking."

"Like I said, it's my job to follow the evidence. And I have no evidence connecting Prunella Davies to the recent homicides. And on a related note, is there any reason why you felt it was necessary to lie to me about your relationship with Mr. Riley earlier?"

Sara peered up at Ashford's prim, discerning face and longed to have her weapons back. "Shaun is very special to me, detective."

"Apparently."

"Ever have someone in your life so dear to you that you'd do anything to protect them?"

"Maybe." Right, Sara thought. That means yes. Typical cagey cop.

"Things ended…abruptly the last time we saw each other. Like, painfully abrupt. And running into him here was this wild, random kind of kismet-y thing. I tried to pretend that it didn't affect me. But his relationship was on the skids and just being around him again…"

"…you were like a moth to a flame."

Sara furrowed her brow. "Cliché, but hey, whatever works for you. Anyway, so there we are alone together and _bang_ – it was incredible." She stared at the pavement below her feet and smiled. "Really, really _incredible_."

"I'll bet. But that doesn't explain…"

"Ash, you know that Shaun isn't a killer. Well, not of living people….but you wouldn't have believed me if I told you he was with me all night and that he slept on the floor while I slept in the bed, now would you? You would have jumped to the worst possible conclusion because let's face it, you don't have a terribly high opinion of me."

"That's not true, you're a lovely girl. He's a very lucky fellow," Ashford replied. "I'd just like it if he swept you off your feet and carried you all the way back to London is all."

Sara stood and dusted herself off, shooing the paramedic away. "Not a chance. I know Shaun told you everything, alright, so what difference does it make why I lied?"

"Because if you insist on staying, it would make things a lot easier if I felt like I could trust you," the detective stated, stepping toward Sara and leaning forward intently. Sara held out one hand and pushed her back a few inches.

"Lemme try and lay it out, Guv," she mocked. "We're not all that different, really, you and me. We both fight criminals. We both face adversity every hour of every day, wondering whether the next door we kick in or the next corner we turn is going to bring us face to face with certain death. The big difference is that your perps operate entirely on this earthly plain. There are rules. There is logic."

"Most of the time."

"OK, believe that if you want. My brand of law enforcement, on the other hand…there are no rules. An innate suspicion of everyone and everything is crucial to my job. I could get myself killed if I didn't operate with just a teeny bit of distrust in everything I do. It's how I survive."

"And yet you trust Shaun," Ashford rebuffed.

"Like I said," Sara smirked, "there are no rules."

Julian, meanwhile, had quickly darted through the hunched-over cops and Wicca wreckage to the office. Shaun was lain back on a small settee while a medic packed up his kit. His eyelids fluttered as he glanced up. "Sara?"

"Sara?" Sergeant Murphy asked quizzically, as he stood in the doorway taking notes.

"Uh, yeah…pet name for me," Julian covered. "Might I have a quick word with him while Detective Ashford is otherwise engaged?"

"Alright, five minutes," he granted, stepping away.

"Where's Sara?" Shaun demanded.

"She's fine. Having a chat with the local police, trying to give them some sort of reasonable explanation for the, uh…mess." Julian inquired, "Do you remember anything about what happened, Shaun?"

"I was outside, chanting the spell. You came out to join me, and…things get fuzzy after that."

"The spike from the Velkor," Julian explained. "It began to change you. And we were forced to seek Pru's help in healing you."

"Ooh…that can't have gone well."

"Nope. Well, you're fine, but…no."

"Gone?"

"Like the wind."

"Right, so where do we find her, then?"

Julian crossed his arms and tried to project authority, fully aware that Shaun wasn't going to like what he had to say. "I'm not sure if that's your province, Mr. Riley. In case you've forgotten, you're no longer a Council operative."

"Just…" Shaun winced, frustrated. "_Fine_, no, I'm not. Go ask Simmonds why I'm not, if you like, and let me know while you're at it because I never got a straight fucking answer. But if this witch had something to do with Emma's death, I want to nail her just as much as you do. I'm _involved_ now, Jules, and frankly it seems like you could use the help."

"That's what I'm afraid of." Julian leaned against the desk in Pru's office and fixed his gaze on Shaun. "We're in a crisis, and Sara's no longer looking to me for guidance."

"What do you mean?"

"She trusts you, she has complete faith in you."

Shaun shook his head. "I don't think that's true."

"Trust me, Shaun. Every disparaging remark I've made about you has been met with a swift right hook to my face. She doesn't defend just anyone so passionately."

"But she didn't even want me to come along…." Shaun rubbed his temples, trying to clear his head. "Look, most days out of the year, I'm just a guy who works in an appliance store. I'm an unremarkable man who's seen some remarkable things. And yes, there are times when she looks at me, or she smiles at me…and I actually believe that everything is right with the world and nothing's ever gonna' change that. But I'm kidding myself. I mean, look what happened today. I mucked up four little Mesopotamian words."

"Babylonian. And you're both still here, aren't you?" Julian countered. "Shaun, when I met Sara, it was only a few months after Will Collins was killed. She was lost, unmotivated, going through the motions only because she felt obligated to do so. But since she's been reunited with you, she's alive. Still reckless, and I'm doing my best to suffer that …but she's _driven_, she wants to win. So as long as you're willing to accept the risks, I'm granting you provisional operative status until we've dealt with this matter."

Shaun did a double take. That was…unexpected. "I…I don't know what to say."

"Say you accept, and then we can get back to saving the world."

"I accept, yeah. Yeah, heh…" He nodded and stood, shaking Julian's hand. "And listen, Westie, I swear I will do my best to protect Sara. I know how important she is, to you and me."

"Alright, two points: Don't ever call me 'Westie' again."

"Okaaay. And the second point?"

"Aside from our mission objectives, Sara's well-being is my paramount concern here. I have no doubt that she would lay down her life to save yours, but I am counting on you to make sure that doesn't happen. And if you get her killed, I know of some very nasty hell dimensions that I could have you shipped to. Are we clear?"

"Crystal."

Sara peeked her head through the beaded curtain. "Not interrupting anything, am I?"

Shaun and Julian exchanged glances. "Nope."

"Yeah, I am, but tough." Sara smiled. "So the DCI and me, we had a little girls' talk out there and it…could have gone better."

"Let me guess, we are still repeatedly and maliciously obstructing justice," Julian groaned.

"And here I thought she'd change her mind about us," Sara said.

"She does believe us, Sara," Julian noted. "She just doesn't want to."

Sara looked down at the bloody towel in her hand and shook her head. "Can't say I blame her. I mean, I'm not quite ready to acknowledge the fact that I just got smacked down by a senior citizen."

He stood, placing a hand on her shoulder, and smirked. "She's middle-aged. And she did have a slightly unfair advantage."

"Ya think?" she quipped. She paused to return the dagger that she'd surreptitiously retrieved from the debris to her leg holster. "By the way, in case Ashford asks, you never saw me remove this dagger from the scene."

"I am as blind to your legal transgressions as Tiresias," Julian mused.

"Always with the Greek tragedy. Do you stuff your own shirts, or do you have them sent out?" she quipped, approaching Shaun and sitting down with him. "Hey! Welcome back. How do you feel?"

"Oh, a bit like…I'm in Rivendell now, and he's Gandalf and you're Bilbo…aaand wow, I'm a geek."

_That makes two of us, babe_, Sara thought. "Actually, you're in Pru Davies' inner sanctum rather than the House of Elrond," she replied, pointing to the closet of concoctions behind them.

Shaun narrowed his eyes at the door, then spied all the scars and bandages on her face and arms. "What _happened_ to you?"

"Oh, this is nothing," she smirked. "You should see the other girl."

Shaun chuckled. "Well, shit, I feel inadequate now. Not a mark on me."

"Yeah right, except for the big nasty one that started all this." Sara raised an eyebrow, then looked down in disbelief as Shaun lifted his shirt to show her…nothing. The wound was gone, not even so much as a scar; Sara lifted her hand and touched his skin, feeling no trace at all.

"And I thought I healed quickly."

"She could've left at least a little scar there," Shaun pouted. "A bruise? Slight contusion?"

"I'm sure there are plenty more opportunities for battle scars before this is over, Shaun," Julian commented.

Sara shot Julian a look. "Yeah, well, next time I see Pru, I'll skip the friendly banter and head straight for the 'knocking her unconscious and binding her with duct tape' part."

"Julian told me she'd escaped," Shaun said.

"Yeah, we lost her," Sara answered, dejectedly. "I played right into her hands. She said she could save you but she knew you'd go blue for a minute first and attack me."

Just then, he noticed the bruising around her neck and looked mortified. "Did…_did I do that_?"

"It doesn't matter," she said, dismissively.

"Sara, I could have killed you. What do you mean, it doesn't matter?"

"Shaun, you weren't yourself. At the time. _Really_. I know you'd never hurt me." She tugged at his goatee and coaxed a smile out of him.

"Right then, where do we find Pru?" Shaun asked, his voice growing firm with resolve.

"I have no idea," Julian shrugged. "Sara said she disappeared through the roof, en route to who knows where."

"She said something about trying to right a centuries-old wrong," Sara remembered. "What do you think she meant by that?"

"A centuries-old wrong…a vengeful spirit at the inn…Maggie," he uttered, as the realization dawned on him. "What if this has all been about Maggie? What if Pru is trying to avenge her death?"

"Why?" Sara questioned. "We don't even know if she has a connection to Maggie. And anyway, 150 years is a long time to hold a grudge."

"Ah, but remember that revenge is a dish best served cold. I think our best bet is to get back to the hotel as soon as possible. It's the one solid clue we have in all this madness."

"Then why are we sitting around here?" Shaun prodded, getting to his feet. "We've got work to do."

"Shaun, you should probably try and rest…" Sara suggested.

"I'm fine, just a little knackered. I'm good," he stated, giving her a thumbs up. "You look done over, though."

"Thanks a _lot_."

"I mean, in a _cute_ way! The bloodstains, they… bring out your eyes," Shaun said, winking.

"Nice save."

"I'm terribly sorry to intrude on this tender reunion," Detective Ashford droned, clearly not giving a shit. "But I've just received a call from my man in charge of keeping watch at the inn."

"And?" Sara, Shaun, and Julian inquired in unison. The detective strolled into the room.

"Rachel Northrop, Alex Wolff and Fran Fairley. Those names mean anything to you?"

"No," Julian replied.

"No idea," Sara added. Shaun simply shook his head.

"They're all guests of the hotel. And they're all dead."


	19. Tea and Truths

**DISCLAIMER: I was going to write something witty and insightful here but I just can't be bothered. Two months of musical rehearsals have left me exhausted; Dylan Moran can mock me all he wants, but acting is tiring. Check back with me next week when my brain and my vocal chords have had time to recover.**

**In the meantime, know that all _Shaun of the Dead_ characters belong to Edgar Wright and Simon Pegg. See if you can spot those "clever boys" in zombie form in _George Romero's Land of the Dead_ in theaters this week. **

Upon hearing Ashford's announcement, Julian sighed and ran his hands through his hair while Sara cursed under her breath and collapsed against the windowsill. Shaun merely stared at the detective, awaiting details.

"All three women died within minutes of each other," Detective Ashford continued. "Throttled with a bedsheet, fell…or quite possibly, pushed out a third story window, and shot by my men for coming at them with a carving knife screaming like a banshee." She sat down calmly on the settee. "Respectively."

"A lot of people are going to die, Shaun…" Shaun mumbled under his breath.

"What?" Sara whispered, pulling him aside.

"That's what my mum told me, she said a lot of people would die."

"Anything you'd care to share with the group, Mr. Riley?" the detective prompted.

"No, no, nothing…when did this happen?"

"In the last hour, amazingly," Ashford replied. "It's a zoo down there, apparently they've had to confine Miss Fairfax to her room because she's gone mental."

"She _is_ mental," Julian corrected. "Look, detective, I am perfectly clear on the fact that you'd like nothing more than for my colleagues and I…"

"_Colleagues_, plural?" Shaun repeated. He whispered to Sara. "Oh, I forgot to tell you, Julian gave me provisional Council status."

"That's…great," Sara whispered back. "No, really, it's fantastic. I just hope I didn't hit him on the head too hard."

"Oh, _thanks_."

"I didn't mean it like that. Welcome back, Riley," she winked.

"For my colleagues and I," Julian continued, "to pack it all in and go back to London, but the questions are piling up faster than you and the Keystone Cops can look for answers." Ashford looked taken aback, but allowed him to go on. "You're not going to find them without our help. I do apologize for the death and destruction, but unless you want loads more of it, I'd like to request…no I'd like to _beg_ you, to allow us to try and do our job."

"I definitely hit him too hard," Sara whispered to Shaun, "He _begged_ someone. Crazy."

Ashford stood, smoothed out her skirt and walked toward the door. "Well, while you three await orders from that Grand High Council of yours, I've informed my men to establish a perimeter around the building."

The trio of Julian, Sara, and Shaun tried to stifle their laughter.

"Sorry, am I missing the joke?"

"A perimeter? As if that's going to do any good," Shaun mocked.

"Right. Don't you watch TV?" Sara asked. "A police perimeter is as useless as…snow tires in Miami…"

"Umbrella during a flood…." Shaun added.

"Earplugs at a Metallica concert…." Sara elaborated.

"…or a sequel to _The Matrix,_" Shaun continued.

"Say no more," Sara concluded.

Julian summarized, "If Maggie or Pru or whoever wants to get out, they'll get out. Your men won't stop them."

Ashford stood in the doorway and faced the three of them, lips pursed. "I'll do things my way, you do things yours." She looked directly at Sara. "And you're _not_ going to get your weapons back."

"I'll manage," Sara glowered.

Shaun whispered into Sara's ear. "It's okay, I have the _Little Book of Really Useful Spells_ in my back pocket."

"Clever boy."

"Thanks."

"Detective Ashford!" An officer standing in the main shop entrance suddenly hollered in their direction. "You'd better come and have a look at this!" The four of them scrambled from the back of the shop, darting around the examining officers and spilled out into the street. What they saw froze them on the cobblestones where they stood.

"Oh…my…God," Detective Ashford uttered.

"Sara, stay here. I should, uh…I should call this in," Julian said.

Sara and Shaun drew closer together and held each other's hand tightly, staring down Penrith High Street into the distance. Over the moon-lit hillocks, a supernatural green glow had misted over and enveloped a structure. No one had any doubt what building it was.

"Who?" Shaun asked. Even though they both knew the answer.

"Pru," Sara replied.

Meanwhile, in the depths of the misty green fortress, Pru was taking advantage of the chaos and confusion. As the officers on site called for reinforcements, she slipped easily through the front door of the Eden River Inn. Dodging cops and staff, she made her preparations in the kitchen in relative silence; then, plan set in motion, she crept up to the east wing and made her way to Evelyn's room.

A uniformed officer stood by the door and held up his hand as she approached. "I'm sorry, ma'am. You can't go in there."

Pru regarded him with derision. Waving her hand in front of his face, she calmly suggested "Take a nap," and the policeman's eyes rolled back in his sockets; losing consciousness, he crashed to the floor. She brusquely stepped over him and insistently knocked on the door.

"Who is it?"

"Evelyn, dear, it's Pru," she replied, her voice rife with feigned concern. "I heard about what's been happening, the whole village is in a state. I wanted to see if you were all right."

Mrs. Fairfax cracked open the door; she looked worse for the wear, dark circles under her eyes. She peered around Pru nervously. "They said I wasn't to have any visitors."

"I'm not a visitor, dear. I'm your _friend_. And I'm here to help you."

Evelyn hesitated for a moment, then opened the door. Pru entered the room, pushing one of the hotel's carts with a tea service on it. "I brought you some herbal tea."

"Oh, bless you, Pru. Your concoctions always calm my nerves."

Pru poured a cup and handed it to Evelyn as she took a seat at the table by the window.

"What's in this?" Evelyn asked, taking a sip.

"A little jasmine, some ginseng—it should help you rest."

"I can't seem to sleep at all these days. Things have gone so very wrong, Pru."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I mucked up the spell that you gave me to summon the vengeance demon, and all those girls started dying. Tara--she was on my staff! Not the most reliable girl but for goodness sake, Pru, she was just a child. And then these government agents started asking me questions."

"Government agents?"

"Something called the Council. They were blaming all these girls' deaths on me. They wouldn't believe me when I said it was an accident. But then that woman died this morning here in the hotel. I didn't know what to do, they started asking me questions about how I'd summoned the demon…but… I didn't tell them anything."

"No?"

Evelyn fussed with the collar of her dressing gown, and though Pru knew she was lying, she allowed her to finish. "Of course not. They wanted me to think that you had betrayed me. That you'd tampered with evidence to make me look guilty. But I know that's not true. They tried to convince me that you were using me, that I was just part of your grander scheme," she chuckled.

"They said I was _using_ you?"

"They have some crazy idea that you're trying to take over the world or something."

"Oh for heaven's sake, dear, nothing quite so momentous. Though I am flattered that the Council is giving me so much credit. I mean, they sent a slayer after me! I have finally hit the big time, Evie."

Evelyn lowered her cup and puzzled at her friend. "The big time? What on earth are you talking about? And what is a slayer?"

"Young girl who I'm guessing recently took up residence here at the inn. Pretty…angry… pretty angry. I gather she's the one who did a number on your wrist." Evelyn blanched and self-consciously removed her bruised wrist from the table and placed her left hand in her lap. "She did a number on my shop as well."

"I'm so sorry, Pru. Were you hurt?" Evelyn asked, not seeing any cuts or bruises on Pru.

"No, no, I'm fine. In fact, I'm rather amused that the slayer and her Council cronies thought they could stop me. But I'll let you in on a little secret, since we're such old and dear friends." She leaned in closer, smiling deviously; Evelyn backed into the chair so far she nearly toppled backward.

"They're too late."

Evelyn's eyes widened. "Oh my God, they were right! You _were_ behind all of this. And you used me."

"I'm afraid so."

"And now you're going to kill me," Evelyn said softly with a trembling voice. "Aren't you?"

"There, there…" Pru removed her shawl and retrieved her leather satchel from under the tablecloth on the service cart. She began to rummage through it while Evelyn's shaking hands clattered the cup and saucer. "Granted, I really should come up with a suitably painful reprisal for spilling the beans to that slayer and her rat-faced handler."

"Pru, I swear to you, I didn't…"

"Yes, you _did_." She spun around and pointed a black-handled, double-edged dagger at Evelyn, who shrieked; Pru simply tittered and backed away, placing the dagger in a sheath on her waist. "You reek of deception. But what's done is done. At any rate I'm not going to kill you. Not just _yet_."

Back in the village, as raindrops began to fall on the Penrith streets, Julian ducked under the awning of the curio shop and hurriedly dialed a number on his cell phone. "It's West, put me through to Archives."

"Council Archives, bloodsuckers beware," the cheery voice greeted.

"Nic, it's Julian again. Why are you _still_ in the office?"

"Michael asked me to be on call when you didn't report in earlier. He's a bit concerned. What's going on up there?"

"Very bad things, as per usual. Uh, can you do a search on a Prunella Davies?"

"Sure." Momentary silence as she input info into her computer. "Current residence: Penrith, England. Occupation: Shopkeeper."

"Was her name always Davies?"

"No. She married a Sergeant Major Davies in 1972, he died a few years later. Her maiden name is Winfield."

"Uh-huh…_that's_ what I needed to know. Thanks, Nic," Julian concluded, as Sara and Shaun rushed up to seek shelter with him under the awning.

"Ooh, ooh, let me talk to her," Sara pleaded, grasping for the phone. "Nicster!"

"Hey, sunshine! Where've you been all day?"

"Busy."

"Not pining over Shaun, I hope. Look, I met this really great guy at the comic shop. He failed to fully appreciate Frank Miller's early work, but I think he'd be perfect for you."

"Yeah, that's nice. Nic, I have a question about Velkor demons. Can you find a usage for their scales? Do they have any…I dunno, magical or curative properties?"

"Hmm…let's see, Velkor scales. Very rare, ergo very expensive. Ground up and mixed into a cream, it makes an ancient exfoliant that was the Phoenician answer to botox. Marinated in a soup with leeks and beef broth, it was a highly expensive meal served exclusively to Assyrian nobility. And dissolved into a certain kind of herbal tea, Zoroastrian priests used it to turn their bodies into spiritual conduits."

"Okay, that's bad."

"Why is that bad?"

"Because a psycho spirit is about to be given an open invitation to our world."

"Oh, well, is that all? I'm sure it's nothing you can't handle. Fight. Win. And call me when you get back, I miss our little chats."

"Yeah, sure thing." Sara ended the call and handed the phone back. "Turns out Velkor scales are a secret ingredient for channeling spirits," she explained. "Before she disappeared into thin air, Pru said that she was shifting the paradigm, letting those who do value life take over from those that don't."

"What, she's making a living human into a host for her great, great…erm, how many greats?…" Shaun inquired.

"Lots," said Sara.

"…several great grandmother? Or is she an auntie?"

"This is something I never thought I'd have to deal with," Julian commented.

"You're telling me," Sara sighed. "I never thought I'd use 'shifting the paradigm' in a sentence."

"Pru's going to create a conduit for her ancestor Maggie," Julian declared.

"So…who's the conduit?" Shaun inquired.

Inside her rooms back at the Inn, Evelyn Fairfax began to wonder why she was having trouble focusing, and the room had begun to spin. It seemed vaguely as though the mist that had settled on the grounds outside had begun to creep into the room, but it had a queer green color to it. Suddenly she felt very cold, despite the hot tea she had been…

"Oh…Pru, what have you done," she asked. The figure of her friend, who had suddenly knelt at the end of the bed speaking in some strange language she didn't understand, and was now enshrouded in the mist. A hissing…no, a _whispering_…bounced back and forth across the room, and frightened Evelyn so that she dropped her cup, shattering it.

"What have you done!" she demanded, stumbling back into the corner and cowering.

"_Bas omirum fidati,"_ Pru bellowed. "The time is now, spirit of my blood. My kindred, I beseech you…grant me the strength to bring you forth unto this world!" Her outstretched arms began to spark with green light, and Evelyn hid her face in her hands. The whispers mounted into a buzz, into a cacophonous white noise that caused the furniture to tremble. Suddenly there was a flash of green light as a spectral burst shot from all four corners of the room and settled on Pru's body. Evelyn shut her eyes tight, terrified…

…and after a few moments, it stopped. She breathed hard, still recoiled against the wall as she heard a mischievous laughter that sounded unnatural, yet…familiar. Still woozy from whatever she'd been drugged with, she lifted her head and grasped for support as the mist began to part; footsteps approached.

"Don't try to stand, Evie," a silken, sultry female voice instructed. "You'll only keel right over at this point." Evelyn's pulse raced as a young woman approached her, wearing Pru's long beaded skirt and a black corset wrenched tight around her willowy frame. Kneeling before her, she got a good look at the girl…short-cropped auburn hair, elegant cheekbones and luminous, almond-shaped lavender eyes.

"It c-c-can't be," Evelyn stuttered, aghast and rapt at the same time. But it was…beautiful yet horrible, a vision she hadn't seen in almost thirty years. "_Pru?_"

"Indeed," the witch leered. "Not a day older than twenty. I mean, I've been able to keep myself rather fit using a few special tricks of mine and I held that miserable young slayer off rather well earlier. But for what is about to come, I felt I really ought to be in peak physical shape…and Aunt Maggie was happy to oblige."

"Who…who is…" Evelyn's breath became shallow, and her head lolled to and fro. Young Pru grabbed her jaw and shook her head roughly.

"Patience, love, you'll meet her soon." The witch stood, swiftly hoisted the unconscious innkeeper over her shoulder and started for her satchel. "In fact…you two are going to about to become very, _very_ close…"

On Penrith High Street, Detective Ashford was being cautiously avoided by the trio on their way to Julian's car.

"I think maybe we should take the Jag instead," Sara suggested, making a quick bolt for the driver's side door, but Julian intercepted her.

"Sorry, where did you get this Jag?"

"From Evelyn Fairfax."

"You obtained this vehicle by completely legal means?"

"She gave it to us willingly," she stated. "After I broke her wrist. A bit." Julian began to protest, but Sara cut him off. "Hey, you were in trouble. I had to do what was necessary to rush to your aid."

"I think you've done enough rushing for one day," he said, snatching the keys out of her hand. "I promise I'll step on it, but we need to make it there in one piece." He grinned as Sara made a sour face and proceeded to slide across the hood of the car to the other side, where Shaun stood with the rear door open and his mouth agape.

"I can't believe you just slid across the hood like Starsky and Hutch."

"Why?"

"I wanted to do that." Shaun pouted. Sara puckered her lips at him as they got in the car and Julian fired up the engine.

"Are we ready?"

"Can you ask me that again when we get a little closer?" Shaun replied.

"Tick tock, Jules…" Sara insisted.

"Right. Let's nab us a witch," Julian said, and peeled away from the curb to the sound of a thunderclap and Ashford's shouts of protest.


	20. Unleashed

**DISCLAIMER: I know that everyone was shocked and saddened by the bombings in London last week. So I don't really have anything profound to say here; I just wanted to let the families of the victims and the people of England know that we folks over here in the States are supporting you and that our thoughts and prayers are with you. I've no doubt the United Kingdom will emerge even stronger from this recent tragedy. And in the meantime, on with the story...**

As the Jag raced along the country roads toward the hotel, the Penrith P.D. perimeter buzzed in anticipation of …something. Anything. Another guest going postal on them with cutlery would be _something_. Instead, there was no apparent movement inside, no hint of anything sinister except for that unsettling glow. The unharmed guests had been evacuated and stood huddled in the night air.

What no one on the outside could observe was a huge spike in ectoplasmic activity within the walls of the structure. Most of it gathering in the front foyer around a particular source of energy…a well-dressed, droll, slightly self-righteous source of energy. With ginger hair and great cheekbones, despite the flesh that had rotted away around them.

And above this hum of activity, outside Room 34, a beautiful young witch had just finished casting a very unique spell which should buy her a considerable amount of time. Smirking, she opened the door to the room and carried the unconscious innkeeper inside, locking it behind them. She placed Evie in the nearest chair.

"Almost time now, Evie," the witch chuckled, patting the unresponsive Miss Fairfax on the cheek. "You know it's really rather poetic, the plans I have for you. One scorned woman's mortal flesh offers the gift of life for the spirit of another…" As Pru spoke, she drew a pentagram in red ink on the deep beige carpet, then dragged Evelyn into it.

"Of course, I've no doubt you wouldn't be too pleased with the notion. So closed-minded, dear, you couldn't possibly see the beauty in it. So I do hope that wherever your soul ends up, you'll find it in your heart…to forgive me."

Outside, a massive thunderclap rattled the walls of the building; Pru smiled and turned to the closed bathroom door. The door that had begun to illuminate from behind…

"Besides, you needn't feel quite so lonely in all of this," Pru explained to her still-unconscious victim. "It's not as though you're the only one I've had to drug to meet my own ends. Your precious reformed reanimates are about to make certain no one disturbs what is about to happen."

The room began to quake, and a vase tumbled from the nearby end table and rolled to Pru's feet. She traced the delicate pattern on its surface with one long fingernail.

"You didn't really think those calf livers arrived in such poor shape by accident, did you?" she giggled, drumming her nails on the vase as she relished her plot. "No, that was my fault, I'm afraid. I just happened to bump into old Hiram's delivery boy on his way to the inn and we…had a little understanding. By the time he woke up, he didn't remember my having broken into the van. Or tainting the livers with my persuasion potion….and a little bit of human blood. Some AB negative, some O positive—I wasn't sure what their favorite flavor was."

Evelyn began to stir, but Pru quickly picked up the vase and bashed her over the head with it. Crouching down, spider-like, she wiped a trickle of blood from the innkeeper's forehead whispered into her ear.

"Your zombie underlings are under _my_ control now," she stated. "They are going to protect us from anyone who tries to stop me. And now that I've undone all your reconditioning, and they've got a taste for their old habits…they should start to get hungry for a hot meal right about now…"

Down in the kitchen, young Jocasta clambered out of a broom closet where she'd been cowering since one of the lady guests had come running through the galley brandishing a knife the length of her arm.

"Helloooo?" There were no lights on, no illumination at all save for a misty green light that seemed to be lingering outside. She could see the reflection of what looked like police car lights bounce off the window panes, and realized she should have pulled herself together and let herself be escorted out with the others. She'd just been so _terrified_…

"Aaaah!" A bit like that; she let out a shriek as she opened the delivery door and was cut off in her tracks by a hunched-over female zombie. Charlotte Weatherby…she was the town doctor's daughter. Once.

"Bloody hell, didn't they think to lock you all up? Come on…" Without a second thought, as she had been all these months since Z-Day, Jocasta reached forward to guide the zombie out to the recreation shed. And then there was the pain…in a flash, the dead woman wrenched her wrist up to her mouth and tore an enormous chunk of flesh from her forearm. The girl fell to her feet, screaming with pain. Even if she had the mind to flee, it was no use; four other zombies emerged from the darkness and they were upon her in no time.

"Faster. Must go faster," Sara muttered from the passenger seat as Julian navigated the roadway back to the Eden River Inn.

"The speed limit signs aren't merely there for decoration, Sara."

"You are _such_ a boy scout," she scoffed, shaking her head. She glanced up at the rearview mirror and saw Shaun staring out the window, stroking his goatee the way he always did when he was deep in thought. "So according to Ashford, we have to add three more bodies to the casualty count."

"But Pru was at the shop," Shaun noted, still looking out at the countryside.

"Which means whatever killed Emma is still at the inn," Julian observed. "And it's getting stronger."

"Any ideas on what we should do first once we get to the hotel?" Sara inquired.

Shaun heaved a sigh and glanced over at them determinedly. "I vote we have a sit-down. I'll make the tea."

"Remind me why I brought him back on board?" Julian groaned.

"It was a joke, for fuck's sake," Shaun protested, scowling at the back of Julian's head. He and Sara, however, exchanged a look of "I could use a break before I do this, couldn't you?"

"Look, I've already ordered in a tactical team. They should be here in a matter of hours," Julian said. "And for once, the element of chaos should be beneficial to us. You and Shaun can slip through the police perimeter and gain entrance into the hotel. I think the first order of business should be to evacuate. If we can get the people far enough away from the inn, maybe they'll be safe."

"But if Pru grinds up the Velkor scales in the hotel's tea," Sara conjectured, "she could make _every_ guest into a spiritual conduit."

"Yeah, I mean, remember what Will was going on about?" Shaun reminded. "Something about there being a lot of unfriendly ghosts that might like to cross over."

"Dammit, Shaun…" Sara whined, knowing exactly where that topic would lead.

"Will?" Julian asked. "He said 'Will,' did he not?"

"Yeah," Sara answered hesitantly, shooting Shaun a look.

"As in Will _Collins_?"

"Yes. Jules….Will's a ghost. He turned up in a dream of mine the other night and every since he's been dropping by occasionally to…um, chat."

"And when were you going to tell me about this? One day, _eventually_, perhaps over brunch?"

"At some point in the future when we weren't in any potential danger, definitely. Brunch could easily have been involved."

"Hey, we could have all gone down to the King's Head," Shaun piped up. "They do a great..."

"I'll keep that in mind, Mr. Riley." Julian gripped the steering wheel. "I have a feeling we're going to have yet _more_ to discuss at this imminent point in the future, Sara…"

"Jules, this is _so_ not the time to pout because I hit you…twice."

"I am _not_ pouting. And considering I've had to constantly struggle with being in the shadow of the great and honorable Will, you can understand my reluctance to be in the shadow of his ghost."

"Will may have died honorably, but if it's any consolation, you've become equally adept at being as big a pain in my ass as he was. And ghosts don't have shadows, Jules. It's in the slayer handbook."

"As if you use the slayer handbook for anything other than a doorstop."

"Guys, come on!" Shaun interjected. "Look, I'm sorry about the joke, there. No more jokes. This is my serious face." He pointed to his head and Julian and Sara both threw a glance into the rearview mirror. "We need to focus on taking down this crazy old bag."

Sara and Julian exchanged chastised looks.

"Right. Well, like Sara said," Julian acknowledged, "every guest who drinks that tea could be turned into a host for the inn's spirits. And that's when things get interesting."

"Define 'interesting'," Sara inquired.

"'Oh God, oh God, we're all gonna' die'?"

"What about the zombies, the ones that work at the hotel?" Shaun asked.

"Reanimates? They'll be fine," Julian asserted. "No ghost would want to possess someone who's already dead. It'd be too much déjà vu for them."

"So we'll evacuate the inn and then try to find Pru," Sara said.

"And Evelyn."

"Why?"

"She opened the portal in the first place. She already has a connection to Maggie, whether she knows it or not. Most likely, Pru will try to use her as the main conduit."

As they drove over the last hillock and approached the inn, Shaun reached forward and placed his hand on Julian's shoulder.

"I've got a cunning plan, West…"

"I can hardly contain my anticipation."

"Try, because I need you to shut it. Everyone quiet…turn off your headlights, Julian, and slow down." The handler obliged, and the car rolled gently down the road at a snail's pace.

"It looks like they already evacuated the building," Sara observed. "That's good. Less bodies, less opportunity for possession."

"Well we've got to get past them first, and I think I know a way," Shaun grinned. "When…Emma and I were sightseeing, I noticed there's a back gate behind the great lawn and the gardens. It's not very high so we could probably climb over…aaand then we can leg it across the lawn to the back entrance. Easy peasy."

"See, Jules," Sara said, lifting Shaun's hand from the handler's shoulder and placing it on her own. "I told you he was good."

"Okay, here goes nothing, then," Julian sighed, dropping the car into neutral and coasting silently down the hill away from the front courtyard. After they were out of sight, he started the engine again and drove around the length of the grounds, with only the moonlight to guide them.

"Wait, wait…stop, this is it." They looked up at the wrought-iron gate. It wasn't very high, true, but the gravel below didn't look like a soft landing. Still, they leapt out of the car and gave it their best shot; Julian watched them until they were safely inside.

"No broken ankles? Scrapes? Lovely. Gotta go meet the backup, be safe!" And with that, the Jag pulled away.

"I'm touched by his concern," Shaun cracked. He and Sara looked across the lawn through the drizzling rain at the inn, whose structure suddenly seemed ominous and foreboding in the supernatural glow. It was then that they noticed the figures wandering about on the lawn…figures that weren't in police uniforms.

"Why are all those reanimates just roaming around?" Shaun asked.

"Actually, it seems like they're coming toward us," Sara added.

One of the undead figures closest to them stepped into the moonlight and moaned, the shattered bones in his neck creaking. His mouth was smeared with fresh blood.

"Ohhh, cock it.…Sara, I think it might be a good idea to…"

"Run like hell?"

"Well, y'see, it's not exactly necessary to run…"

"Shaun, it's dark, it's cold, and I still have several fresh wounds that make me look like a tasty treat to these things. I happen to think 'running like hell' is a very solid plan."

"You might have a point there. Come on." He grabbed her jacket sleeve and they scurried quickly past the approaching horde. The hotel was too far, but there was a large shed several yards away. They rushed to the door and Shaun threw his shoulder against it, busting it open. Sara rushed inside and he closed it behind them, fumbling in the dark for something heavy; he dragged a large dusty chest to the entrance and lodged it shut.

"How many are out there?" Sara inquired.

"Lots," Shaun replied, peeking through the wooden slats.

"What made them start attacking again, do you think? Ugh, that sound, the looks on their faces…I'm fairly alarmed here," Sara muttered, shivering only partly from the cold rain. She jumped as Shaun managed to land his hands on a flashlight and flipped it on, the beam landing right in her face…then she jumped again as the first zombie reached the shed and began to clawing its hands on the walls.

"Hey," Shaun said, reaching for Sara and brushing his knuckles on her cheek. "I've got this sorted, I promise. We'll make it." Maybe it was just the way the damp torchlight made his eyes gleam, or the content of his smile…but she believed him. Sorta.

"Okay, since you're king of the fucking zombies, tell me what to do," Sara replied.

"Well, hm-hm-hm…since Ashford confiscated all your weapons," Shaun said, backing toward the sporting equipment piled in the back of the shed "…we're gonna' have to do this old school." He placed the flashlight on a nearby shelf and began to rummage through the shed's inventory, picking up a cricket bat. He wiped the dust off it with his sleeve and spun it in his grasp, then snapped around and took a sharp, hard practice swing. "Groovy."

"Aha, there it is…that's got my name on it," Sara exclaimed, reaching out for a longbow and some arrows.

"Nope, no good," Shaun declared, snatching them away.

"Oh, come on, I'm a crack shot with my crossbow. _This_ is old-school for me."

"Look, I know you're keen to try your fancy Legolas moves, but that's no good against zombies. You have to take time to reload, and every second you lose is a second for them to get closer to you." He forced a croquet mallet into her hands. "It's all about blunt force trauma. Here, try this."

"But…that means I'll have to get close to them."

"Yeah. Just aim for the head. What's the big deal?"

"I can't…I just…I have this thing about zombies."

"Ohhh…I get it," Shaun nodded. "The whole 'Why did it have to be snakes,' right?"

"Pretty much. I mean, there are two things in this world that really scare me. I'm talking 'paralyzed with fear' kind of scared. And that's zombies and spiders."

"What about zombie spiders?"

"It's not funny, Shaun," she snapped.

"I'm not trying to be funny. But you're the one that said zombies weren't on your 'to slay' list. You said they were five by five."

"That was before they started coming at me, eager to gnaw off my appendages. I think I'm entitled to change my opinion in the circumstances."

"Fine. The important thing is there are dozens of them between us and the inn." He placed his hands on her shoulders and felt her trembling. "Now the only way we're gonna' get into that inn is by cracking the skull of every zombie that gets in our way."

A mournful howl split through the calming rhythm of the rain on the roof. Sara gripped the mallet in her hands. "I can't do this," she whispered, her eyes filled with terror as they stared at the door.

"Of course you can. Sara, look at me." Her wide eyes returned to meet his. "Do you trust me?"

She wordlessly nodded.

"Do you believe me when I say we're gonna' get through this?"

"Yeah…yes," she stammered.

"Do you want to get in that building and kick Pru's arse?"

"Ohh, very much so."

"That's a girl," he smiled, kissing her cheek. "Remember, aim for the head, watch your exposed skin because you don't want to let them bite you, and lastly, they're slow. We _can_ outrun them."

"Gotcha." Shaun started toward the door and Sara grabbed his arm, pulling him back into her arms and kissing his lips.

"For luck," she said when they pulled apart. Shaun smirked, besottedly.

"Right." He started toward the door again…and stopped, again. "Also, once this is all over…we'll definitely have to get past this fear of zombies thing, because you _do_ realize I live with one?"

"Well, I'm sure that Ed's different," Sara eked, with a weak smile. She meant it sincerely, and she could tell he understood that. Nodding, Shaun hurled himself against the door and motioned to Sara to move the chest that was blocking it; once their bodies pushing back against the entrance was the only things keeping the zombies out, they both took deep breaths.

"You ready to do this?" Shaun asked.

Sara gathered every cast-iron-bitch instinct in her body, shook off her fear and raised the mallet to a swinging position. "Ready as I'll ever be."

"Then let's make a mess."


	21. The Gauntlet

**DISCLAIMER: Some of you might have recognized a line from the _Serenity_ trailer in my last chapter. Yep, that was a _Firefly_ reference. I'm a little late coming to the Browncoat party, but thanks to Netflix, I've been able to catch up on the one show in the Whedonverse that somehow passed me by. And I'm very much looking forward to the _Serenity_ film in September. But for now I will rule over this chapter and I shall call it…this chapter. **

The door burst open and several zombies stumbled backward, moaning angrily. Dozens more shuffled across the grassy field, the moonlight casting long shadows. Shaun and Sara shared a glance before emerging from the shed.

"Hey, deadhead," Shaun said, holding his cricket bat aloft and approaching the nearest zombie. "Take a bite of peach." He reared back and twirled the bat like Uma and her Hattori Hanzo sword; the zombie's head cracked with a sickening noise and separated, the body crumpling to the ground.

"I cannot _believe_ you just said that," Sara remarked.

Shaun rolled his eyes and slammed the bat down hard into another zombie's skull. "Try your own catchphrase," he suggested. "It'll make you feel better."

"Hi-keeba," Sara squeaked, trying to follow his example. She tightened her grip on the croquet mallet as the nearest zombie approached, what was left of its jaw frozen in a hideous snarl. Connecting with its cranium, she closed her eyes and looked away from the sight of the now-exposed brain tissue. The zombie staggered to the side, and she readied a blow for the next one on her left.

Shaun walloped another zombie and glanced over to Sara. She was being too hesitant, too timid. He knew the killer instinct was…um, instinctual to her. It was just a matter of pushing the right buttons; he needed to get her to feel something other than abject terror if they were going to survive. "Oy, Cross!" he cried.

"Yeah?"

"I bet I can take out more of these things than you," he boasted, following through on an uppercut.

"_What?_"

"I know you're a slayer and all" – smash! – "...but you have to admit…" – squelch! – "I have had more training in this particular realm."

Sara stifled a retch as she took down another zombie. "Look, I know what you're trying to do, Shaun. Don't think I don't appreciate it."

"I'm not trying to do anything," he insisted, his adorable but smug face spattered with blood. "Just stating a fact. I've taken out…four, five of these things." Hopping to one side, he jabbed one particularly tall zombie in the gut and when it doubled over, he pounded an uppercut with the bat under its chin. The head flew off and a young zombie behind it picked it up and began munching, then threw it aside with a grunt of distaste. "Whereas you've only got two…"

Sara paused as one incapacitated zombie fell backward on top of another. "And a half," she corrected.

"So? What are you waiting for? If these things were vamps, you'd have this field covered in dust by now."

"Yeah, well, there's no messy clean-up with vamps." She kicked away a zombie that had snuck up from behind. It stumbled backward into the grass, and she delivered a final blow to its head, closing her lips tightly and recoiling from the spray of blood. "And you are paying my dry cleaning bill after this!"

"Only if you have a higher casualty count than me."

"Fine – fine, you're on!"

And slowly, but surely, Sara hit her stride; with every next swing of the mallet, the ease of taking them out overtook her fear. That and the desire to get the bloodstains out of her favorite jeans and leather coat at no expense. Fine, and the satisfaction of proving to Shaun that she had the edge to doing this.

But when it was all said and done, and there were only a few more zombies left on their path to freedom…the strongest feeling she had was admiration. Watching Shaun go medieval on these creatures was something to behold; she had no doubt in her mind that he didn't enjoy it quite so much that he wouldn't rather be having a cold one in the bar or curled up in her hotel bed upstairs, watching _X-Files_ re-runs…but he was good. Damn good. And she beamed with pride.

"Almost tied me," Shaun announced, closing in on the door and pulling her with him. "Nice try, babe. I win."

"Yeah, well, there's a first time for everything," she sighed, attempting to wipe some blood splatter off her cheek. "So what happens since I lost, what's my punishment?

"Believe me, I'll think of something…"

"Think quickly, then. We've got a second wave incoming," she informed him, as shambling shadows began to approach from around the side of the house.

Shaun determinedly approached the door but found it locked. "Oh, fuck!" he cried, futilely wrestling with the knob. "Open the door!" he shouted, pounding on the heavy wood.

"There's no one inside, Shaun, no one _living_. And if we break a window, they'll follow us," Sara conjectured. "They're getting closer…"

Shaun turned and leaned resignedly against the door. "I didn't think it would end like this."

"Yes, being torn apart by zombies certainly isn't my preferred method of death," she remarked. "Besides, I already died once this year; I don't want to be redundant." She looked at Shaun and managed a weak smile as the shambling, moaning undead drew nearer.

He took her hand and held it tightly. "I'm glad you came back."

"Me, too."

"Whatever happens, we go down fighting."

"Absolutely."

"Then we'll leave it to fate."

"Let's just hope fate is in a good mood." She brought his hand up to her lips, made sure it wasn't covered in zombie blood and kissed it, as he firmly gripped the cricket bat in his other hand.

"You ready?"

"Ready."

Shaun inhaled deeply and then fell backward as the door suddenly opened. Still holding his hand, Sara found herself jerked inside and tumbled on top of him. The door was slammed on the approaching zombies, and when Shaun and Sara looked up, they couldn't believe their eyes.

"Welcome to the party, you two," Will greeted, looking chuffed and extending a hand.

Sara allowed the apparition to help her to her feet. "What are you doing here?"

"I took your advice and brought some friends." He led them into the main foyer, leaned against the door and pointed toward a sight that made Sara and Shaun gasp. A lobby _full_ of ghosts…young ghosts, old ghosts. Ghosts with smiles, ghosts with frowns. All of them in various stages of decay like Will, their outfits from different time periods but all sharing the same ethereal glow.

"Um, are they…dead like you?" Shaun began.

"Yes, they're ghosts and yes, they're friendly." Will turned to his former protégé. "Really, Sara, your boyfriend's grasp of the obvious continues to astonish me."

She swiftly smacked his arm. "Hey, show some respect! He just saved me from a horde of ravenous zombies."

"Alright, alright. We'll do our best to keep the zombies on the outside."

"How?"

"Simple binding spell, Sara. Keeps certain people in and certain people out. If you'd paid more attention in lecture, you could have done the same thing."

"Whatever. How are the living guests?"

"Most of them were escorted outside by the local PD, and we managed to corral the rest of them into the wine cellar. I'm afraid a few of the staffers got bitten, so we've placed them in the kitchen freezer and locked it."

"Have you seen Pru?"

"Super powerful Wicca, about yea-high, dresses like a Van Gogh painting?"

"That'd be the one."

"Haven't seen her lately but I'm sure she's in the building. She's the one who made the zombies go homicidal, according to Abigail."

"And who's Abigail, when she's at home?" Shaun asked.

"Her." Will pointed behind Shaun at the very small ghost of a little girl who looked up at him with one big, green eye and smiled.

"Hello," she said, cheerful as…well, as a child.

"Riiiiiight." Shaun pushed his creeped-out vibes to the back of his head long enough to lean down and pat the little apparition on the head. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," she replied sweetly.

"How long do we have, Will?" Sara asked.

"A little, I think. Some of the other spirits have gathered in the drawing room to channel their energies and stall any undesirable manifestations. Won't last forever, but it should buy us some time to figure out a game plan and stay under the radar."

"Wouldn't want to lose the element of surprise." Shaun stared longingly toward the hotel bar, which still maintained a warm and friendly glow despite the surrounding chaos. "And I could do with a pint," he sighed.

"So could I," Sara agreed.

"I'm pretty sure the bar's still serving," Will observed. He issued orders for the ghosts to cover the doors and windows, then followed Sara and Shaun to the bar. As they passed through the doorway, unseen hands ambushed them from both sides.

"Die, you undead bastards!" cried a black trenchcoat-clad man with a wild tangle of black hair as he held a jagged broken wine bottle against Shaun's throat. Out of instinct, Sara raised her mallet in defense, but the woman to her right caught it and tossed Sara against the wall, holding an iron fire poker to her throat.

"I think there's been a mistake," Shaun struggled to say.

The woman regarded Sara intensely for a second and then dropped the poker to her side. "False alarm, Bernard!" the woman scolded, pushing the other man's arm away from Shaun. "They're not zombies."

Bernard insistently pointed at the decaying form of Will. "He looks fairly undead to me."

"No, no, no," Sara said quickly, moving between Will and the bottle-brandishing Bernard. "Well, yes, he is, but he's my friend."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"Seems to be the trend around here," Shaun remarked.

The woman looked at the three of them apologetically. "Sorry about that, Bernard's been a little on edge." She sighed and smoothed out her auburn hair, reminding Sara vaguely of Rene Russo in _The Thomas Crown Affair_.

"Who are you?" Sara asked.

"Marian Matecheck. Er, no, Marian _Moran_." She tilted her head at her husband. "Sorry, dear, still getting used to that."

"Quite all right. I forget my own last name from time to time…well, often," he muttered in a thick Irish brogue.

"This is my husband, Bernard," Marian continued. "We were in the bar, enjoying the last few hours of our honeymoon, then things suddenly got a bit weird."

"Yeah, we know," Shaun groaned.

"So who are you people?" Marian inquired.

"Uh, Metropolitan Police," Sara stammered.

"You don't look much like police."

"Special Branch. It's all very hush-hush."

"Would you mind telling us what's happening here?"

"Well, we're not quite sure," Shaun began. "All we know is the reanimates have reverted to their old bloodthirsty ways so we're going to need to secure the building. Have you seen anyone else around?"

"No one but us and the undead," Marian explained.

"Maybe you two should join the others and hold up in the wine cellar. Do you know where that is?"

Bernard and Marian stared at them. "Of course," they replied in unison.

"Right, dumb question. Anyway, get yourselves down there, block the door, and wait for help to arrive."

The Morans started to scurry off to the cellar, but Sara stopped them with a stern look, holding out her hand. "I'll take those, if you don't mind." They reluctantly surrendered their weapons and continued on to the cellar.

Shaun threw her a look. "What'd you do that for?"

"I wanted an upgrade," she said, tossing aside the mallet and getting a firm grip on the fire poker. She stood in front of the pub fireplace, desperate to stop the shivering. Shaun grabbed a couple of towels from behind the bar and handed one to her.

"So let's get this straight," Shaun began, "we now have ghosts fighting zombies, with a very cranky witch somewhere on the premises."

"That about sums it up. Weird enough for you?"

"No, I'm just waiting for a werewolf to join the fray."

"Let's not tempt fate, shall we?" she advised, drying her hair with the towel.

"I take it Pru put up a fight," Will asked Sara, observing her many bandages and bruises.

"A bit of one, yeah."

"Why didn't you have the golden boy here do a protection spell?"

"Well, that was the plan, but things didn't quite work out," Sara shrugged, with a sideways glance at Shaun.

"I still have the book," Shaun said, fumbling for his back pocket.

"Too late, Shaun, I doubt it'd be strong enough to contain both Pru _and_ Maggie. Anyway, Mags is still pissed off about her untimely death and looking to get the payback. With interest. So Pru found a way to bring her great, great auntie Margaret Winfield back into this world."

"How does she plan to do that?"

"Scales from the Velkor demon. With them, she can turn anyone into a spiritual conduit."

"And that anyone is probably Evelyn Fairfax," Shaun elaborated.

"If Pru already has Evelyn, where would she take her?" Will wondered aloud.

"What about the chapel?" Shaun offered.

"No," Sara countered. "As far as we know, she's still in the building, and there must be a reason she revived the reanimates in order to keep us away from the hotel."

"What about Room 34, Mad Maggie's room? Isn't that where people usually see her ghost?"

"Riley, you're a genius," she smiled. "Remind me to kiss you."

"If we don't die."

"Oh, have a little faith. How much time do you think we have, Will?"

"If Pru's administered these Velkor scales to Evelyn, she could then either kill her or render her unconscious, making her susceptible to possession by Maggie. It would only be a matter of opening a portal and summoning Maggie's spirit."

"Considering Pru's power, she could do that at any time," Sara commented.

The lights flickered and a low rumbling started. The bottles and glasses behind the bar slowly shook off their shelves and shattered on the floor.

"Like right about now?" Will conjectured.

"What's going on?" Shaun shouted.

"She's opening a portal. We need to hurry!"

Sara and Shaun made a run for the staircase but skidded to a halt in the bar's doorway as the jukebox in the bar sparked to life, playing Queen's "Somebody To Love."

"Oh arse… not Queen," Shaun moaned.

"What's wrong with Queen?"

"Bad memories," he replied dismissively. "Let's go!"


	22. Taunted

**DISCLAIMER: Well, I just got back from my whirlwind weekend at DragonCon. Many interesting things were seen and heard. It was pretty much three days of sensory overload. But I got autographs from all the _Firefly_ cast members in attendance, and got to meet several of my online friends from the SEBC Yahoo group, so I'm a happy Browncoat.**

**Oh, and they had a _Shaun of the Dead_ poster displayed prominently in the room where the British track programs were being held. Sweet!**

Shaun and Sara proceeded up the stairs quickly. Light bulbs and decorative vases began to shatter, and they had to shield themselves from the showers of sharp shards. When they arrived at Room 34, Shaun tried the door. "It's locked!"

He backed up and threw his shoulder against it, but the door didn't budge. "Alright, _ouch_." He staggered back, holding his aching arm. "I suppose that works better on weather-beaten sheds."

"Generally, but thanks. That was sweet of you." Sara delivered a swift kick but the door still didn't budge. She stumbled back onto her now-sore leg. "Ow! What the—"

"Think she's using some kind of magic to keep us out?" he asked.

"That's totally cheating," she grumbled.

Shaun surveyed the hall, paced for a moment. "We should try the rooms on either side. Maybe there's an adjoining door, or we could climb out onto the balcony somehow?"

"Good idea. Which room do you want, right or left?"

"Uh, the first one. Be careful."

"You, too."

Shaun and Sara approached their respective doors, reached for the doorknobs - both were unlocked. Convenient. They shared a glance and then walked inside. Sara immediately felt cold. Her eyes adjusted to the light gradually, and the room became clearer…oddly, it didn't look like every other room in the hotel. And yet it was _familiar_. In a way she didn't like at all. She tightened her grip on the fire poker and took a few steps forward.

Meanwhile, Shaun closed the door behind him, took a deep breath and then turned to face the room. But it didn't look like a hotel room at all. The walls were dark, wooden, inset with large windows. To his right, a pool table and dartboard; to his left, a bar stretched along the wall. Looking across the debris to the windows, he saw silhouettes of outstretched hands through the curtains, against the pale yellow light of a street lamp. A deeply pained sigh escaped his lungs as he realized exactly where he was.

Sara was in the midst of surveying her surroundings--an open and airy flat with a breathtaking view of a river, ornately furnished and decorated with artifacts and antiques from every corner of the world—when she saw something that stopped her in her tracks. She looked on in astonished amazement as her former handler came into view and began to search Professor Malcolm Ryland's flat. Only it wasn't Will's ghost…he was alive, just as he was the last time she saw him before…

"Will, can you….hear me? Will?" Sara approached as he continued leafing through the artifacts but it was as though he couldn't hear her. "No, this isn't possible," she whispered.

"Actually it is," a posh voice at her shoulder explained. She turned slowly to see Ryland's smug grin. Dead Ryland, the one who had attacked her in her room; she startled and backed off into a fighting stance but he simply removed his broken, dusty glasses and wiped them fastidiously with a handkerchief. "You see, there are a lot of cracks starting to appear in the walls around here. Between the living and the dead. Some things are bound to slip through."

"Why am I seeing this?" she asked, as Will examined a laptop on Ryland's desk and then began shuffling through the desk drawers.

"Well, my dear Miss Cross, only you know the answer to that. Even though you might try to deny it."

"Is Pru doing this?"

"It's possible."

"Tell her the show is cancelled."

"No, no, wait. We're just getting to the good part."

With the arrogant ghost at her side, Sara watched helplessly as the events of that horrible night played out before her. Ryland's living doppelganger suddenly appeared in the far doorway.

"_Can I help you with something?" Professor Ryland asked, confronting the ginger-haired intruder._

_Will lifted his head slowly to face Ryland. "Ah, Professor Ryland, this probably looks a bit odd."_

"_A bit, yes."_

"_You're probably wondering why I, a complete stranger, am rifling through your desk."_

"_The thought had occurred to me." Ryland moved to stand behind the desk, so Will retreated back toward the center of the room. "Are you from the museum?"_

"_Uhh, yes, actually."_

"_No doubt looking for your lost casket," Ryland sighed, starting to straighten out the papers on the desk with a look of frustration. "I've already told you people a hundred times that I didn't take it."_

"_Right, yes. But you can understand the museum's concern in finding it. The casket is a priceless artifact."_

"_The casket is merely a box. A simple structure of wood and metal. What was in it is far more valuable."_

"_I see. And would you mind telling me what was in it?"_

_Ryland smirked. "I'll do better than that. I'll show you."_

_Will reacted to a presence behind him. He turned to face a large, muscular figure clad in armor, holding a broadsword in his armor-plated gloves. "Allow me to introduce Davrok Sakkari."_

_Davrok plunged the sword into Will's abdomen, and he cried out in agony._

No longer able to stand it, Sara lunged forward but Ryland's ghost grabbed her arm. "Ah, ah, ah. You can't change the past, Miss Cross. What's done is done," he stated. Then a self-satisfied smile lit up his face. "Ooh, this is my favorite bit…"

"_You're not really from the museum, are you, Mr. Collins?" Ryland asked, calling him by name as he moved to stand by his side. "In fact, I think that you're from the Council. A bunch of bleeding-heart do-gooders sent by the Catholic Church to battle evil. Am I right?"_

_Will shook his head, despite the pain._

"_It's no good, you know. Sure, you and your slayers might have killed a few of our vampires. But there are more, and there will be more. This city has never known the devastation that we will wreak upon it. The streets will be awash with the blood of those who will not submit to the rule of Davrok. Starting with yours..."_

_Davrok withdrew the sword. Will sank to the floor, blood pouring from the open wound in his torso and through to his back. He tried futilely to cover the wound with his arm as his breath grew slow and labored. The color quickly began to fade from his already pale complexion._

Sara weakly sank to her knees, blinking back the tears. She wouldn't give Ryland the satisfaction of knowing how much the sight upset her.

"So there your compatriot lies bleeding, all over my priceless Persian rug," Ryland's ghost sighed. "He didn't die right away, as you can see. No, a stomach wound like that…takes hours for a man to die. I gather he was dead by the time you and Mr. Riley arrived on the scene. Must have been a horrible shock for you. Just _agonizing_ to think of your cherished friend dying alone like that. But then everyone dies alone, don't they? Well, apart from me; there did happen to be a rather hungry zombie in the car."

He kneeled down beside her. "And I happen to have it on good authority that you won't be dying alone either." He took her chin in his icy hand. "There now, don't you feel all better?"

Two doors down, Shaun was still trying to come to grips with the sights and sounds he found himself faced with. From what seemed like a world away, he heard a familiarly angry voice: _"She's finished! For a hero, you're quite a hypocrite."_ He looked away from the shadows at the window to see David holding a rifle, himself and Ed on either side of him armed with a broken bottle and a corkscrew, Dianne holding a bottle to his neck and Liz standing by the wall trying to keep the peace.

"_You're the one who's gone from being a chartered accountant to Charlton Heston!" Shaun shouted._

"_I'm not a chartered accountant!" the spectacled man protested._

"_Well, you look like one!"_

"_YeahI" Ed agreed._

"_I'm a lecturer," David asserted._

"_You're a twat!" Shaun countered._

"_Yeah!" Ed seconded._

"_She's not your mum anymore! In a minute, she'll be just another zombie," David desperately proclaimed._

"Stimulating conversation, isn't it?" said an Irish-accented voice at his shoulder. Shaun leapt at the site of David, intact - well, more or less - standing beside him.

"But you…were there… now… here…"

"Never one for metaphysics, were you?"

Shaun dropped the cricket bat, fumbled and backed into the pool table. "_I saw you_ get torn to pieces."

"Yes, of course you did." David removed his glasses and wiped them on the sleeve of his blood-soaked-polo shirt; when he replaced them, one lens was dripping red, but he didn't seem to notice. "I won't try to explain, Shaun. Suffice it to say, I'm merely a manifestation. The embodiment of your doubts, fears, uncertainties."

"Why am I back at the Winchester?" Shaun demanded, not at all willing to go through the same nightmare he'd already experienced practically every night, only in even more vivid detail.

"Only you can know that for sure. Perhaps you're supposed to learn something from it. Perhaps witnessing this scene of massive misjudgment on your part will help you to avoid doing the same thing twice."

"Listen, you wanker…"

And then he heard the shot. Its deafening sound echoed around the walls of the pub. He turned and caught a glimpse of his undead mother falling to the ground, blood and brain matter sliding down the wall behind her. "Oh, Christ…" Shaun wrenched back a sob and stumbled away toward the back room.

"No one really blames you, Shaun," David's ghost blathered on, following him. "You tried. But in the end, it just wasn't enough to save your friends or your family. And now you've lost Emma. You almost let Sara get herself killed back at that shop. Are you starting to see a pattern emerge, here, Pickle?"

"What are you trying to say?"

"You were forever making promises to Liz that you were going to change. Quitting smoking, going to the gym, going on holiday. And maybe you did change for a while, tried to be the man that you thought she deserved. But when the chips are down, when you're actually faced with real mortal danger, isn't it so much easier to just be the underachieving slacker that you really are?"

Shaun crossed his arms and tilted his head in a confused look. "What, what, what, what, what?"

"Think about it, Shaun. Your best friend is even more of a loser than you. And when you do manage to get a girl, it's always one that's independent. Secure with being on her own. That way, if you screw up, they won't get hurt. They'll be fine. But if you don't screw up, then they'll be pleasantly surprised. Either way, you win and you don't have to be held accountable."

"Well, thank you, Dr. Phil. But things are different now, okay? I'm accountable. I am all kinds of accountable."

"Accountable to whom? To Sara? As I'm sure you may have noticed, she can take care of herself. You're just a liability to her."

"Sara loves me…"

"Which totally explains why she let you think she was dead," David retorted. "Because that's what normal people in a normal relationship do."

"Yeah, well, normal is in the eye of the beholder."

"Actually, I wonder what upsets you more. That she lied to you, or that you let her go. Sure, you asked a few questions, made a few phone calls. But then you accepted the completely irrefutable proof that she was gone. You disappointed her, you let her down. Just like your dearly departed mum whom you tried so hard to save. When are you going to stop trying, Shaun? Embrace your destiny."

"What destiny?"

"You're not the hero, Shaun. You want proof? Just look around. Take a long look at how well things go when you decide to take charge."

Meanwhile in Room 34, the bracelets on Pru's wrists jingled as she put her hands on her hips. An ectoplasmic residue had begun to settle on all the walls and furniture, but still no sign of her ancestor's spirit. "Oh, will you cross over already?" she huffed toward the ceiling. "For Hecate's sake…"

She couldn't understand what the delay was. She'd done the chant, she'd prepared Evelyn to be a host, but there was still no sign of Margaret's spirit. Most of her energy was being used to keep the dynamic duo occupied in the neighboring rooms but she couldn't keep that up forever.

"Right, this is taking too long. We'll just have to try a more…direct approach." She placed her hands under Evelyn's arms and dragged her unconscious form into the bathroom. "Alright, Auntie Maggie, we'll do it your way," Pru relented, turning on the tap for the bath.

Outside the Eden River Inn, two sleek black vans raced up the gravel driveway and skidded to a halt. The back doors swung open and black-clad men armed with various weapons hopped out of the van and onto the ground. They lined up and stood at attention, awaiting further orders.

Julian finished attaching the straps of his spell-proof vest and addressed the group. "Right, we're gonna' keep this hunting party tight. Your primary objectives are to apprehend Prunella Davies and Evelyn Fairfax; they are wanted in connection with four murders and several pan-dimensional transgressions. Remember, we have two Council operatives and an unknown number of civilians inside, so watch where you aim. I need one team to secure the perimeter, the rest of you are with me."

Another car pulled up behind them, discharging a frazzled Detective Ashford and a confused-looking Sergeant Murphy. "Mr. West, if I might have a word…" she insisted.

"We're past the time for words, detective. If you'll excuse me, I have work to do."

"You're not going in that building without me."

"We have no idea what's going on in there. And I can't be responsible for your safety."

"Mr. West," she said, loading a clip into her gun, "I didn't ask you to."

Back in The Crouch End Pub Formerly Known As Room 36, Shaun's misery had begun to dissipate while his anger reached a boiling point; without warning, he turned back to the ghost and punched him threateningly in the shoulder. He only shrieked lightly when David's arm fell off with a sick thud.

"Listen, you…whatever the hell you are," he stammered. "I'm finished with this. It's behind me. I know I did the right thing, she…I wasn't about to let her…" He tried to avoid looking back at the scene playing out behind him, until it occurred to him to use it to his advantage. "Oh, look, you're about to get eviscerated again."

David turned to look and Shaun spun a roundhouse kick straight into the bloody apparition's chest; but instead of falling backward, he crumpled into a pile of body parts. A smattering of blood hit Shaun in the face, and he wiped it off without so much as a whimper. Yeah, that was disgusting…but man, it felt good.

"Oh…well, that is just _great_. Look at the big hero!" shouted David's dismembered head from where it had landed, just south of his left armpit.

"How do I get out of here, Four-Eyes?" Shaun demanded, kneeling. "And don't say you don't know, or I'll do me best Pele on your noggin and see if that doesn't jog your memory."

"You see, that's your problem Shaun," David gurgled. "You give up too easily. Sure, you got bloody lucky in that basement when you were about to blow yours and Lizzie's heads clean off, but it was close, wasn't it? How're you ever going to make a go of this slaying-the-undead business if you aren't willing to take the initiative?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake…" Shaun stood up and reared back to deliver his swiftest kick…

"Mum would be _so_ disappointed, wouldn't she?"

And just as he was about to strike…it dawned on him. She was here before. There was no reason to believe she wasn't _still_ here, with the other ghosts outside, conspiring to help them find their way.

"That's it." Shaun stumbled backward, ignoring David's remains as he mumbled further insults and walked toward the back door of the pub. He placed one hand on the door knob and tried to clear his head. Blocking out the sounds of the zombies bursting through the windows behind him, of Dianne screaming like a banshee as she ran out of the pub, of himself and Liz and Ed shouting. He concentrated on the image of Sara in his head, somewhere else in the hotel. How now, more than ever, she needed him. How all this was a stupid bloody trick and the only thing standing between himself and freedom was a little bit of wood.

"Mum?" he gasped. "Bit of help here? Please?" A few seconds passed…and nothing. Alright, that was just foolish. He opened his eyes and sighed, letting go of the door knob…turning around and bumping smack into…_Phillip!_

"Oh, for God's sake, Shaun…" the ghostly visage of his stepfather rumbled. "Get on with you, eh?" And with that, Phillip raised up a plank of wood like the one he'd chased him 'round the garden with and whacked Shaun in the chest. He came completely off his feet, flying backward at full speed – only he didn't crash into the door. He flew _through_ it, screaming for dear life, and landed on the hallway carpet outside Room 36. Hard.

Gasping for the breath that had been knocked out of him, Shaun curled up into a ball and spluttered until someone reached down and helped him to his feet. Blinking, he straightened slowly and realized the helping hand belonged to his mother.

"You see, Pickle, you could do it. I'm so proud of you." Barbara beamed. "Now go on, then…don't let them intimidate you, you're made of sterner stuff. I'll be with you." She kissed him on the cheek, and as quickly as she had appeared she misted away into the air.

"Mum, wait!" Shaun cried. But the only answer came from behind him, a bit more sarcastic than he would have liked.

"You've just demonstrated that you _might_ you know what you're doing, Shaun, don't you think it's time to let go of the apron strings?"

"Will, I don't need…"

"No, what you need is a weapon. You left your cricket bat in the room," Will smirked, motioning toward the wall to Shaun's left; he turned and saw a fire extinguisher mounted on the wall next to a box containing an axe marked "In Case of Emergency."

"Right, cheers, thanks Collins," Shaun nodded. "Get back to helping the others."

"I'm sure they're just _lost_ without me," Will sighed, and misted into the wall as Shaun raised his jacketed elbow and busted the plexiglass on the front of the box. He cleared the shards away gingerly and pulled the axe free, marching determinedly down the hall to the door of Room 32 and gritting his teeth.

"I'm coming, Sara!" he shouted, plunging the axe into the door; rearing back for another swing, he was well ready to smash the door to shreds…not for the handle to come off like David's arm had a minute ago. He fell backward on his arse, staring up at the blade of the axe where it had stuck in the door, then back to the handle in his grip.

"Bollocks."


	23. On the Edge

**DISCLAIMER: David Boreanaz is in a new show. And he's gonna' be walking around in daylight and stuff. It'll be weird. But fun. I hope. Shouldn't I have learned by now not to get attached to any Fox series that doesn't have the words "American" or "idol" in it?**

**Anyway, on with the story…**

Inside Room 32 in the minutes before Shaun's failed rescue attempt, Sara wiped the tears from her eyes. She got to her feet and went for the door. "Tell Pru I've seen enough."

"That's not how it works," Ryland sighed, crossing his arms.

"Really?" She knocked on the adjoining wall. "Oy, Sabrina! Enough with the light show."

"You can't go back out that door."

"Why not?"

"Because this is a…one-way spiritual journey, shall we say? And you haven't reached your destination yet."

She turned to face him. "How about we call it what it really is? A distraction. And a crudely obvious one at that. The Velkor demon—now _that_ was a unique and effective distraction."

Ryland laughed dismissively. "Pru has better things to do than play mind games with you and your little friend."

"Well, you could have fooled me, what with the surround sound traumatic flashback. Actually, you know what this reminds me of?" Sara laughed, and laughed heartily, such that Ryland's ghost seemed a little perturbed. "Ever seen _The Exorcist II_?"

"Erm…no."

"I thought not. You probably haven't seen the first one, either, for which you should definitely stew in the cauldrons of Hell for all eternity," she declared, perching on the arm of antique chair, "but that's beside the point. Anyway…it _sucks_."

"Is that a fact?" Ryland replied, leaning against a chaise-lounge, semi-intrigued.

"It is a fact," Sara continued. "And I won't begin to list the reasons _why_ it sucks, because we'll be here all night and I've got a full dance card tonight. But here's one of the major reasons: toward the end, there's this scene where Father…oh, I can't remember his name, it's Richard Burton and he was probably drunk when he took the part. Anyway, he has a vision of the events in the first film, during the exorcism when Father Merrin was in the bedroom with Regan alone. We see her attempting to seduce him with all her Pazuzu-y evil and he has a heart attack and dies, but see in the first film…all we got was Father Merrin dead on the floor when Damien comes back in the room, and the demon giggling at the body."

Ryland furrowed his brow. "Fascinating."

"Yeah, it's creepy as hell. But see, the power of that moment is completely cancelled out by this flashback sequence that makes _no_ _sense_, and that's where the movie ceases being just bad and becomes absolutely vile. Because the mystery of what happened behind that closed door was the _entire point._ Sometimes, Malc? Truth _isn't_ in the details."

Sara walked up to the ghost and pounded him in his dusty chest. "It's in _here_. And while I am impressed, points for accuracy and emotional poignancy and all, I don't give a shit what actually happened when you and that vampiric fuckhead killed Will. You took my friend from me, that's all that matters."

"So the year-long guilt trip that you've been on, that was just a phase?"

"Yeah, sure, I blamed myself for what happened to Will. But he didn't; he forgave me. And he wouldn't forgive me if I let my emotions get in the way of my job. There's no way I'm letting Pru give Mad Maggie an all-access pass to this world, and there's definitely no way I'm going to let _you_ of all people stop me."

"The wheels have already been set in motion. You honestly think that little fire poker is going to stop a vengeful spirit as powerful as Margaret Winfield?"

"Were you this annoying when you were alive?" she inquired.

"More so, actually. I think death has mellowed me."

"Not enough."

"Seriously. You should try it sometime," he remarked. "Oh, wait, you already did."

"That was temporary."

"Yes, I know, but it wasn't all bad, was it? Being someone else, leaving behind all those regrets and insecurities that made Sara Cross who she was? As Helen Wellesley, you had a whole new life, a new beginning. Tabula rasa, one might say."

She sighed and cast her gaze downward. "You make it sound so simple."

"And yet it wasn't." He circled behind her, hissing over her shoulder like a hooded cobra. "People called you 'Helen'; it was the name on your passport, official records, etc. But deep down, you were still the same willful, self-conscious, emotionally bankrupt Sara that you always were."

"You're a fine one to be passing judgment, Mr. I-wanna-bring-about-the-apocalypse-because-I-couldn't-get-a-date-to-the-prom."

"I'm already dead, sunshine. Juvenile taunts can't hurt me."

"It's still fun to say them, though."

"And I will begrudgingly admit that a vampire apocalypse might have been a bad idea."

"Ya think?"

"But at least I have the sense not to repeat my mistakes. Whereas you…"

"Whereas I what?"

"Being insubordinate to your handler, not following Council protocols, giving your heart to a man who's unable or unwilling to reciprocate your feelings."

"Oh, come on, Pru." She rolled her eyes and banged on the wall again. "We've already had this conversation once today. Get a new topic."

"Y'know, he seemed so devoted to the dearly departed Emma only a few days ago. To the point where he actually told you to sod off. But then…things change, quick roll in the hay, and suddenly he's devoted to you, he'll never leave your side, and he will never ever ask you to give up your day job."

She leveled her gaze at the apparition. "Shaun loves me."

"He loved Emma," the bespectacled professor countered. "Or at least he _said_ he did. Doesn't spend a lot of time in mourning, our Shaun. Does he?"

"Look, things came up. He's been a little distracted. It's no use trying to make me doubt that Shaun is a good man."

"That may be, but let me assure you, that man has demons. Do you really think that you're prepared to face them?"

"I've seen worse."

"You only think you have," he said. "And yes, there might be a certain connection between the two of you when you're both faced with extreme circumstances, but what happens when the tedium of everyday life sets in?"

"Well, tedium doesn't really describe my everyday life. For instance, having a Film Theory 101 conversation with the ghost of a man who's tried to kill me on several occasions."

"That's a fair point. But you don't honestly think that this is anything more than a fling?"

"This is _not_ a fling," she stated.

"How can you be so sure? Only a few days ago, you were at each other's throats. And not in a good way. What makes you think any of the feelings you two have for each other will last beyond the city limits?"

"Because I feel safe with him," she declared. "It's a new feeling, and I'm kinda getting used to it. So kindly get out of my way so I can kick Pru's witchy ass back into the 1800s so that I can go back to my happy place with Shaun."

"Happy place…where might that be? A vampire nest? A demon bar?"

"Your point…?"

"You're kidding yourself if you think it's going to be cappuccinos in a corner café for the two of you. It will be blood and carnage and anguish. Don't you think he's had enough of that?"

"He's strong. He can handle it."

"But he shouldn't have to, should he? After all, one of these days," Ryland looked over to Will's body on the floor, "it might be Shaun lying there bleeding."

"You're right. One day it may be. But let me break it down for you, prof. Whatever happens is our choice. Not yours, not Pru's, and certainly not jumped-up spirit who doesn't know the meaning of rest in peace."

"I see. Well…it's your funeral."

Ryland then charged at Sara, and she lunged at him with the fireplace poker, driving it straight through his rotting chest; the two of them spiraled toward the door and she ripped her weapon free. The ghost grasped her by the throat as he had before and held her up against the door frame, throttling her with all her might…until a loud bang on the door startled them both. They turned their heads – Sara with some difficulty, in the midst of being strangled and all – to see the point of a metal blade pierce the wood just above the peep hole.

_Oh, thank God,_ _Shaun_, Sara thought to herself. She took the opportunity while Ryland was gaping at the door to kick him in his decaying groin, thrilled to pieces to find that it had the same effect as it did on living guys. The ghost fell to his knees, groaning in agony, as Sara dropped to her feet and banged on the door. "Shaun! Shaun, help!"

"Sara!" he called out from behind the door. "Stay there, uh….hang on, I've got it!"

"Hurry, he's going to…._ggggahhhggh_!" Sara's hands flew to her throat as Ryland placed the fire poker across her neck and began to choke her. She struggled for oxygen and leverage, finally placing her feet against the door and kicking. They tumbled backward together, and Sara freed herself from Ryland's grasp. But Ryland got to his feet quickly and landed a blow to her head, sending her spinning backward over a couch. She hit the floor hard and paused to catch her breath, rolling away just before Ryland drove the firepoker into the carpet where her head had just been.

She scrambled to her feet, narrowly avoiding another blow. Grabbing the dagger from her leg holster, she advanced on him but he quickly grabbed her wrist and spun her, holding her arm behind her back. He removed the knife from her hand, took it in his own and held it against her throat.

"Well, well, doesn't this give you a warm, fuzzy feeling of déjà vu?" he whispered into her ear. Sara tried to struggle but she felt too weak. As the sharp edge began to cut into her skin, she could only make out the faintest sound of what sounded like Shaun uttering an incantation in….Latin?

_CRRRASH!_ Sara suddenly gasped a full, deep breath as Ryland's spirit disappeared and the dagger clattered to the floor. She looked up and saw Shaun on top of the beaten-down door, groaning in pain but without any noticeable injury. Sara rubbed her throat, and peered around the room; Ryland's flat, Will's death scene, everything had disappeared and Room 32 was back, intact. Well, except for the door.

"See that! Ha haaaaa!" Shaun cackled, thrusting out his hand gripping a very tiny volume. "_Little Book of Really Useful Spells_! I'm back, Pru, and I've moved up from garden sheds to big, fuck-off hotel doors!"

"Want to stop gloating and help me up, sport?" Sara asked.

"Shit…sorry, babe, you okay?" Shaun hoisted Sara to her feet and pulled her into his arms. She leaned into his chest and sighed.

"Yeah, other than nearly being throttled by Ryland's ghost again, watching Will die before my eyes and reliving a painful film-geek memory just to make a point, I'm good."

"Which memory was that?"

"_Exorcist II_."

"Oh, _gawwwwd_."

"Yeah, it was no fun," Sara replied, breaking their hug and walking toward the wall, attempting to listen to what was going on in Room 34. "What happened to you?"

"Well, I got to see The Winchester again. And Ed when he was alive, and my mum. And my _stepdad_ – I know, WHAT! - and this complete arsehole David who thought he could steal Liz from me…long story, anyway it was really fucking weird but I think I'm getting the hang of this paranormal….Sara, what are you doing?" Shaun stared at Sara as she began to tap on the wall in a strategic pattern.

"Looking for a weak point in the wall. I figure if I can jam the poker into it really hard, pry it loose…we might be able to bust the drywall and break through to the other side. This place is pretty old, might be easier than it looks."

"Right. Erm…" Shaun scratched his head, looking at the small book in his palm and considering. "Okay, I know you really came into your own back there on the lawn with the zombies and all the physical, smash-and-bash, warrior-woman stuff and all, and you were _brilliant_, don't get me wrong..."

"Thanks, hon. Your point?"

"Well, that kind of thing works for zombies, and vampires. Especially when they're evil slags who used to work with your girlfriend and they're just asking for a beautiful slayer to come walking out of the night and give them a good dusting."

"Shaun…." Sara stopped tapping the wall, turned and smiled at him. "It's adorable of you to start reminiscing about how we first met, but now might not be the _best_ time"

"Sara, just…" He stammered and held up his hands. "…just hear me out, for one second, please." He waited for her response; she pushed her hair away from her face, and motioned for him to continue but be quick about it.

"Okay, so here I was in that other room seeing that horrible scene at the pub play out again, about to have footy practice with the dismembered head of a dead rival for my ex-girlfriend's affections… when it occurred to me that _might_ be the sort of situation where extreme violence isn't going to get me anywhere."

"Whatever you've been reading in the _Little Book of Really Useful Spells_, I've read it about fifty times over," Sara pointed out. "And groovy, it worked busting the door down but I have a feeling it'll fall short of getting us into that room."

"That's not what I'm saying," Shaun continued. "I'm saying…we need to have a little faith."

"I see. I'm the one with the sacred calling, and _you're_ talking to _me_ about faith…"

"No, Sara..." He walked toward her and placed his hands on her shoulders. "It's like Will said, everyone has their own set of ghosts. I got out of the other room by shutting out the distraction and focusing on what I needed to do, and I reached out for my mum…and she helped me escape."

"No kidding?"

"Well…actually, Phillip twatted me in the chest with a bit of wood, but it got me through the door and Mum was there to pick me up off the carpet."

"Nice."

"But that's not the point…what I'm saying is, I don't think Pru's having an easy time of it over there because all hell hasn't broken loose yet. Whatever Will and his friends are doing is working, and I think if you and I concentrate hard enough, one or two of them might be willing to pop over here and lend us a hand."

Sara turned around and regarded the wall again, then turned back to Shaun's expectant gaze. "I can't bash the wall up just a little?"

"You can do whatever you want, love, I'm just saying let's not waste any more time. And you should save your strength for Pru, because she doesn't know what she's in for." He grinned and winked, and Sara smiled.

"No…no, you're right." Sara discarded the fireplace poker and shook her arms out. "Okay, so what do I do, spookmeister?"

"Start by not calling me '_spookmeister'_."

"Done. Next?"

"Well…see, I put my hand on the door knob, but maybe put your hand on the wall like this…" Shaun stuffed the _Little Book_… back into his pocket and placed his palm on the wall. "Then just try to clear your head and concentrate on getting into the room, on Pru and on what she might be doing….how you're going to stop her, how we need any kind of help we can get to just _get the hell into that room_…"

"How about just shouting 'Will, need a hand here, mate,' that's an idea." Sara and Shaun both jumped and turned to find the ghostly handler standing behind them shaking his head.

"Will you _please_ stop sneaking up behind me!" Shaun complained.

"Nice try, sweetie, he's been doing it to me since I got here," Sara added. "It's all the rage among the undead these days."

"Enough about me, though you two really would be lost without me, wouldn't you?" he smiled smugly.

"Will, we're in a bit of a hurry here," she insisted. "You can save the condescension for later."

"Fine, fine. Riley's right about the concentrating, otherwise all the ectoplasmic mojo in the world isn't going to get you through that wall. I'll see if we can't help, though. Go on, have at it." Will backed away and closed his eyes; Sara and Shaun turned to each other and took deep breaths.

"Ready to do your best Kitty Pryde?" Shaun asked.

"With Pru all Dark Phoenix on the other side of this wall? Sure, why not," Sara answered. The two of them bowed their heads and cleared their minds of every last unnecessary thought. They clenched their fists at their sides and tried to imagine whatever no-good Pru was up to next door…that Evelyn Fairfax might still be alive and worth saving…that Mad Maggie was about to cross the threshold and somehow, by some miracle, they would find a way to send her back to the other side with her bags packed and a one-way ticket to Hell.

"Steady on…keep it going, almost there," Will instructed. "Don't open your eyes yet, concentrate!" As much as they wanted to see what was happening, the two of the continued to focus on projecting themselves inside the room; gradually, a light began to emanate from behind their closed eyelids and an ethereal hum rang out in the room. A strange sound, halfway between a creak and a crumble, emerged from in front of them but still they didn't budge.

"Aaaaand…NOW. Go!" Sara and Shaun winced and stormed forward; strangely, they felt some resistance, along with a terrifying icy gust that shivered them to their bones. But their bodies, sure enough, passed right through the wall and tumbled forward beside the bed in Room 34.

"Holy shit..." Sara exclaimed.

"...it worked!" Shaun laughed. They spun around to look behind them, just in time to see a sky-blue mist hovering around an elliptical space in the wall; at the edges of the partition, dozens of decaying hands appeared to be holding the plaster, mortar and brick aside to allow them to pass. Beyond the wall where they had stood before, Will waved at them genteelly and smiled.

"Give my regards to Miss Davies. And don't die!" And as soon as it had appeared, the hole in the wall and the benevolent hands keeping it ajar vanished. There was only the quaint floral wallpaper in its place…and a sickeningly familiar green glow keeping the room alight.

"That was fantastic," Shaun gasped, "and I don't think I ever want to do it again."

"You won't have to, Mr. Riley," a sultry female voice with an unnatural, paranormal echo to it replied. The room seemed to vibrate under her dulcet tones; Sara and Shaun exchanged a look.

"Oh, hi there, Pru. Mind if we drop in, have a spot of tea, foil your megalomaniacal plans?" Sara taunted.

"Ah, Miss Cross, I have missed your witty banter. But I think you'll find that the rules of the game have changed since last we met." Suddenly, the bathroom door burst into hundreds of slivers of wood; Sara and Shaun ducked for cover, shielding themselves from the shower of toothpick-sized fragments. When the scraps settled, they looked up into the emerald mist and saw the lithe, corseted figure of the enemy walk in.

"Who…the hell…is _she_?" Shaun peeped.

"I think that's _Pru_," Sara replied.

"When did we swap Zoe Wanamaker for Keira Knightley!" Shaun wondered.

"No idea, but I'm beginning to wish I'd paid more attention in all those magic lectures," she whispered, then turned to the young witch. "So I'm confused, the Oil of Olay finally kick in, or does the Spice of Life specialize in herbal Botox?'

"I like the nonchalant bravado. It suits you," she said. "But I think we all know that no amount of clever remarks is going to stop what's about to happen."

"Right, right, you were gonna' bring back Margaret Winfield's ghost, weren't you?" Sara conjectured. "And turn most of the hotel's guests into spiritual conduits or something? But y'know, I haven't seen any ghosts. Have you, Shaun?"

"Well, earlier, in the other room…"

"Shaun…"

"Right. No, no ghosts." He shook his head emphatically.

"Having a bit of trouble, Pru?" Sara inquired.

"The spiritual world doesn't exactly run on a precise schedule," she explained, with a hint of exasperation. "But it's only a matter of time."

"Where's Evelyn Fairfax?"

"She's just in the other room. Probably dead by now. She was under water for quite some time…."

"_Shit!..._Shaun, go and check on Evie."

"What about you?"

"I'll be fine."

"I'm not leaving you alone!"

"Shaun, focus on what you need to do – I can handle her, I promise. Just…make it fast."

"Right." He nodded and started toward the bathroom, gingerly stepping around Pru who merely regarded him with bemused interest.

"So it's just us then?" Pru smiled after he'd gone.

"Just us girls."

"Funny. I would have thought you'd be halfway to the seventh level of your own personal hell by now."

"Yeah, well, I was about to board that bus but then I remembered something."

"What's that?"

"I owe you pain," she said, and launched a right hook at Pru's jaw.


	24. AbraCadaver

**DISCLAIMER: I know I promised to update this story. I promised to stop smoking. I promised to start going to the gym. I promised to try drinking red wine instead of beer. I promised we'd go on holiday. And you can see how well those turned out. But anyway, here's a new chapter. Hope it was worth the wait.**

**This one's for BebopCowgirl, who's been relocated to Houston because of Hurricane Katrina. And to all the people who made it through Katrina, Rita and Wilma—stay strong, stay safe, and here's hoping your lives get back to some semblance of normalcy real soon.**

"Heads up, ladies and gentlemen," Julian announced, striding confidently up the gravel path in full-on leader mode. "Eyes and ears open. And don't cast out anything that looks benevolent…though I know it's getting harder to tell these days."

Julian marched up to the hotel entrance with the Council team at his heels - and Ashford close by - while the Penrith police gradually, cautiously started to fall back. The detective attempted to make something of the battery of hand signals Julian flashed at the members of the team, who dispersed rapidly to cover the windows and the other entrances. Julian inhaled deeply and braced himself against the door, casting a glace toward Ashford who now had her back against the threshold, looking back at him expectantly, hands clutched tightly on her gun.

"We've no way of knowing what's on the other side of this door, detective," he confided. "All I can tell you is...expect strangeness. And keep on your toes."

"That's a given," she replied. Julian gave a nod to the two brawny Council agents holding the battering ram, who charged at the door. A loud crash followed by a supernatural shriek, and the team spilled into the foyer...met by the sight of dozens of startled ghosts. In the rafters, on the stair rails, halfway in and out of the walls. Ashford's jaw went slack but she kept her firearm cocked and ready.

"Steady, steady on, you lot keep working...I'll handle this." A silvery, smoky mist appeared and wafted its way down the grand staircase, materializing into a form that Julian recognized only too well.

"William," he nodded. "How're ya?"

"Cheers, Julian...up to my rotten ears in work, as it were, but nice of you to ask before you trotted in the bloody cavalry."

"Sorry," Ashford interrupted, "you know this…this...man...thing...person?"

"We have a mutual friend," Julian replied. "Sara. Er, Helen," he added hastily in response to Ashford's blank look.

"Who happens to be in way over her head at the moment," Will added, and as if on cue, the entire building began to quake. Through the grand hall's elongated windows, they witnessed a shower of green sparks and an eerie phosphorescence coming from the West Wing.

"Sara, you're letting her intimidate you. _Damn_...I'll take the stronger ones with me, see if we can put a leash on Maggie," Will said, evaporating again before their eyes.

"Hang on, I'm in charge here, Collins!" Julian protested.

"Then you'd better charge on up to Room 34, West," the dead handler's disembodied voice. "Help Shaun protect her. Corporeally. Bring the detective, if she's a good shot..."

"_If!_"Ashford exclaimed. "Who the hell does he think he is?"

"Insufferable twat taught me everything I know," Julian confided, in a reluctant tone of voice. "And if you ever tell him I said that, I'll kill you. Come on!"

"What, where am I...ohh, God my head," Evelyn Fairfax spluttered, soaking wet and splayed across a bathroom floor. She raised her sopping hand - the one on the end of her throbbing wrist - to her spinning head and tried to focus, but the darkness kept overtaking her.

"Stay with me, Miss Fairfax. You nearly drowned," Shaun said, shaking her lightly. "I've got to get you out of here."

"Where is here?...wait, hang on, I know you. You're the dead girl's boyfriend," Evie mumbled. Shaun winced at that comment, glancing up and seeing Sara and Prunella Davies about to have a rematch not ten feet away.

"Bad choice of words at the moment, Evie," he said, struggling to get her on her feet. "Come on..."

Meanwhile, young Pru was staring down Sara and caressing her stricken jaw, chuckling lightly. She took two steps forward and with a sweeping arm gesture, sent Sara hurtling backward. She crashed against the headboard, bounced onto the bed and slammed onto the floor. Before she could get back to her feet, Pru pounced and wound a lamp cord around her neck. Sara - by this point utterly fed up with people trying to throttle her - clutched at the gaudy lamp on the end table and broke it over Pru's head.

That only loosened her grip slightly, but it was enough for Sara to roll out of her grasp. She leapt to the floor, ran halfway up the wall and flipped to land behind Pru, launching a kick that sent the witch into the vanity at the far end of the room. As she sailed toward the oval-shaped mirror, though, Pru waved her arm again and Sara came off her feet, rocketing straight up into the ceiling and bashing her head but good.

"Sara!" Shaun shouted. The witch roared with frustration, shaking the broken glass from her hair and observing a barely-conscious Evie slung over the slayer's precious lad's shoulder.

"This is barely a fair fight as it is, sweetie. Get locked." Before he had a chance to decipher what she meant, Shaun felt himself rocketing backward - straight into the large cedar wardrobe in the corner of the room. Slamming against the back of it with a thud, both he and Evie buckled and soon found themselves in complete darkness as the doors slammed shut, locking them inside.

Groaning in pain, Sara rolled onto her back and tried to catch her breath as Pru approached; she could see the witch's uber-goth lace-up boots come into frame, the sound of Shaun calling her name muffled in the background.

"What...do to him," Sara burbled, spitting blood onto the carpet. She staggered to her feet, then tumbled forward onto her knees. "Let him go."

"Is that all you got, slayer?" the witch taunted, "…'Cause I could stand to go another ten rounds. Whereas you…can barely stand." She kneeled down beside her, at eye-to-eye level. "Alright then, if you really need a moment...what say I kill your boyfriend and then you can have some time to think about your next move? There's a good girl." She patted Sara on the head and returned toward the wardrobe...

Sara crawled to a nearby candle from the makeshift shrine and turfed it in Pru's direction. The fire took hold of the fabric in her Bohemian skirt and quickly began to spread. Pru shrieked, quickly mounting a chant which summoned a luminous blue mist that seemed to instantly douse the flames. Too late for the charred garment around her now nearly-naked, coltish legs.

"That was my favorite skirt!" Pru hissed, grabbing Sara by the neck and hauling her to her feet.

"I did you a favor," Sara gritted.

Inside the wardrobe, Evie began to get her wits about her. Enough to realize the two of them cramped inside the wardrobe was only going to get less comfortable by the second. "Exactly what are you doing?" she inquired, barely able to make out Shaun's profile against a sliver of light from the crack in the door, shuffling about with something small in his hand.

"Trying to read the _Book of Really Useful Spells_, but it's not enough light. You haven't got a match have you?"

"I've given up."

"I swear, no one but Ed smokes anymore and all it does is come right out the hole in his neck!" Shaun protested. "This is ridiculous, there's got to be some way out of here..."

Outside, Pru heaved Sara backward, sending her crashing through the French doors and out onto the stone patio. Sara smashed into a table and then hit the concrete, hard. Pru stood in the doorway of broken panes and jagged glass, gazing out into the misty moonlight on the slayer's unconscious form. "Well," she sighed contentedly, "that's taken care of. Now where was I?" She approached Sara but was stopped dead in her tracks by a voice she'd been waiting a very long time to hear...

"I could have handled that myself, my dear...she'd only have gotten in my way eventually. But thank you. The body of a slayer is more than I could have asked for..." Pru fell to her knees, gazing back into the room into a swirling vortex of spectral light like nothing she'd ever seen. It was magnificent.

"It's been my honor, Auntie. Now get a move on, will ya?"

Indeed...In the hallway outside Room 34, Julian and the Council team were seconds away from battering down the door. And inside the wardrobe, Shaun's panic subsided just in time for a revelation. "Hang on a minute...I remember it now!" he suddenly laughed. "I remember the protection spell!"

"Oh, fuck-a-doodle-doo, lad! What are you going to do about it from in here?" Evie barked.

"Just tell me one thing, Evie, and I promise no matter what happens I won't let my girlfriend break your other wrist. Do you remember the spell to open the hell dimension, the one you dredged up the demon with?"

"I...I think so."

"Good. So listen, count of three, I'm going to start chanting...the second we hit carpet, you start opening your portal and I'm going to boot that anorexic witch straight in. Got it?"

"I think so."

"We don't have time to think," Shaun uttered, suddenly feeling inordinately cool. He could _do _this. "Here goes..._gureme, neneme, cheneme, dodala_..."

Well, the first bit worked. Shaun's chant had zapped Pru's spell on the wardrobe, alright, and with a crash he kicked the door open and pulled an obediently chanting Evie to freedom. The wardrobe crash, mind you, was rapidly upstaged by the hotel room door smashing down, a gaggle of black-clad, heavily-armed Council operatives storming into the room with Julian and Detective Ashford in tow.

"Shaun, are you alright!" Julian asked.

"Wait!" Shaun pleaded. "We've got it under control..."

"Do you?" a voice inquired. "Do you rrrreeeeeally?" It was so familiar...so heartbreaking. Sara, and yet..._not _Sara. Alien. Ugly. Unspeakable. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as Shaun and Julian exchanged horrified glances, and unwillingly turned to face the source of that voice.

Sara stepped gracefully and slowly through the broken doorframe and into the room. But it wasn't Sara. Not anymore; the spirit of Margaret Winfield had possessed her, seemingly completely. Dark jagged veins crept across the sickly, white pallor of her skin, and her eyes were completely black; the stench of standing water, centuries old began to fill the room. Julian motioned to the team to hold their fire and Shaun sank to his knees, fighting back tears.

Pru kneeled before her. "Welcome to your new life," she enthused. "I did not know that these…insects would be here to witness your rebirth. I beg your forgiveness."

Sara/Maggie held out her hands, examining them as if for the first time. Then she turned to Pru. "My dear, sweet child…you have done everything you should have. I can ask nothing more of you." She placed her hands on either side of Pru's hopeful face. "Bored now." With a rapid movement, she twisted Pru's head and tossed her aside like a plaything. From the ghastly, crooked orientation of her head upon her shoulders, it was clear the witch's neck had been broken.

"Such an obedient thing. I couldn't ask for a more loyal descendant," Sara/Maggie chortled. "For a student of black magic, however, she was far too trusting of a malevolent spirit, family ties or no. And so boastful. Outlived her usefulness."

Julian tried to gather his senses. "Margaret Winfield, I hereby order you to vacate this human and return to the astral dimension from which you came."

She turned and regarded him. "You must be so very disappointed. You were supposed to prepare her, weren't you? To face the Big Bad. But in the end, she was just like every other Slayer you've trained. No better than a lamb to the slaughter. Which isn't entirely your fault. Oh, wait, yes it is."

She crossed to Shaun and kneeled in front of him. "You think she's coming back, don't you?"

"Sara, I know there's some part of you still in there. You just have to fight her…"

She placed her fingers over his mouth. "Such a sentimental fool. I can see why she likes you. Not too bright, though." She searched his eyes. "You still believe that love will conquer all? Not likely. I loved someone once. I thought he would be my saving grace. Instead, he put his hands around my throat and held me under the water until I drowned. Smiling the whole time. Helluva wedding gift, wasn't it?" She stood to cross the room.

"You're not leaving this room, Maggie," Julian declared.

"How do you plan to stop me? Shoot me? Burn me? This body that stands in front of you…it's still the body of someone you care about. And you can't bring yourself to do it any harm, can you?"

Just then, the only person in the room who hadn't been shocked into submission - Evelyn Fairfax - managed to complete her chant and a gust of wind roared from beyond where Sara/Maggie was standing, hurtling out into the hallway and knocking a few of the operatives off their feet. A pulsating light began to emanate from a swirling, magenta-hued vortex spewing dust, smoke and short bursts of electricity from a dimension beyond their plain.

"Very clever, Evie," Sara/Maggie admitted. "But you know how much I hate to travel alone. If you aren't going to let me go about my business, I really must insist that Miss Cross accompany me back home...you'll just have to follow us if you want to finish this."

"No!" Shaun cried out. Then the being who was not Sara looked directly him.

"Be seeing you," she said…

"…Or not."

Shaun and the others puzzled at the source of the third voice, then it clicked….who _else_ would it be?

"Right, then," Will replied, folding his arms calmly. "Check-out time, Mags." And with a gust of air and a flash of cerulean blue, the walls of Room 34 came alive with ghosts of all shapes, sizes and infirmities. Shaun covered his mouth in shock as the spirits manifested into an eight-foot-tall funnel of spectral energy in a matter of seconds…then like a bolt of lightning, channeled themselves directly at Sara/Maggie's face.

"Oh, bollocks," she mumbled…and the tornado of poltergeists dove down her throat. Sara's body quaked violently, gagging, grasping at her throat as if she were being smothered.

"Somebody, do something!" Shaun hollered.

"Not yet, Shaun," Julian instructed. "Wait until I tell you then grab her!"

"How do you feel about a Crazy Ivan?" Will asked his replacement.

"Always wanted to try one," Julian replied, pulling a slim, green leather-bound volume from his flak jacket and flipping through the pages. Shaun turned quickly to see Julian beginning a long, complex incantation in what sounded like Russian…then figured it was probably not a good idea to take his eyes off Sara. Maggie. Oh, God…

"Julian, hurry!" It seemed to be working; though the veins in her face were throbbing in a fairly grotesque way, the whites and pupils of her eyes were beginning to show again.

"You're not getting her without a fight!" Sara/Maggie blurted. And just then, Julian finished the incantation and with a wave of his hand, cast a force field toward the portal that made the whole room tremble. Sara's body toppled backward, went rigid, and like a pillar of blue flame, the spirits exited her body. Taking Maggie's spirit with them: a nexus of green mist in the middle of the stream, she howled in frustration as Shaun reached forward and latched both arms around Sara's waist.

"I've got you, babe," he smiled. "I've got…"

"You've got fuck all," Maggie's voice declared.

It all happened so fast. When it was over, none of them could figure what they might have done to stop it...just that they should have done _something_. So fragile, yet powerful – like a tendril of poison ivy – a single green plume of vapor reached out from the mouth of the portal just as it began to shrink. Sara came to, only for a second – looked into Shaun's eyes with a terrible fear in her own, and was violently pulled into the disappearing vortex. Shaun had leapt forward to get a better grip on her, but was too late...she slipped through his arms and he tumbled face-first into the carpet, one arm outstretched; at that very moment, a spectral burst overtook him and occupied the same space as the portal...forcing it open as it was trying to close.

"Miss Fairfax, is that you?" Detective Ashford asked.

"It's not me," the proprietress protested.

"Of course not, it's _us _you silly woman," Will replied, and cast a frustrated glance toward her current handler. "When will they ever learn?" He walked around the portal, now being pried it ajar by the hotel's spirits as they had done with the wall earlier, and kneeled down to offer Shaun a dusty hand.

"You've got to pull yourself together, Riley. It's not too late, but this is your _last _chance."

Shaun wiped the tears from his eyes, took a deep breath and nodded. "I know. I have to go in after her," he declared.

"Collins, are you mad!" Julian cried, blocking their way. "Shaun, it's suicide! Trans-dimensional travel is completely uncharted territory."

"So it's fine for Sara, who had no choice! Not for me?" he protested. "I don't care. Someone has to bring her back!"

"You've never done this before!" Julian shouted.

"Neither have you!" Shaun countered.

Julian stared at him, blinking. He turned to Will, who merely cocked an eyebrow, then back to Shaun.

"You're right. You go." Shaun nodded determinedly as Julian began to issue orders to his team. "Matthews, we'll need rapelling wire. Secure the mooring to the floor. We'll give Shaun as much slack as we can. As soon as they return, I'll close the portal. I want an armed team standing by, in case we get any unwanted visitors, and I want a full medical team ready; we don't know what condition they'll be in when they get back. Fuller, take Miss Fairfax downstairs and secure her."

The innkeeper's protests fell on deaf ears as everyone scurried about making their preparations. Julian returned to Shaun. "You're sure about this?"

"I'll bring her back, Jules, or die trying."

"Well, let's think positive, shall we? Remember, once you find her, three tugs on the line and we'll pull you back." He clapped a hand on Shaun's shoulder and gritted his teeth. "Good luck."

Shaun nodded in the affirmative, and stared down at the floor as the Council operatives began fitting him with a harness and spraying him down with holy water. First he tried to convince himself this was all a dream; that didn't work, clearly, and he reckoned it was a bad idea to convince himself of such things when he had to save his girlfriend from spiritual possession. Then again, most of the time in dreams you have no fear, and that'd come in handy right about now. He looked up into the unknown darkness beyond the portal's energy field and quickly closed his eyes again.

"You're doing what's right, Shaun." He'd heard that voice before; suddenly, Shaun looked just above the portal's rim and spied a familiar face. Abigail, the tiny spirit from the lobby earlier. She winked her one good eye at him and he stifled a nervous laugh...then gasped as her face morphed into that of his mother.

"You always do what's right, Shaun. We can all count on you," Barbara smiled, then disappeared beyond the edge of the dimension rift. A sea of unfamiliar, ghostly hands overtook where her face had been, and Shaun shook off the shock long enough to hear Julian call out.

"Shaun, are you ready!"

He didn't feel ready. He didn't know if he ever would...but there was no time to lose. He'd just have to be. Mustering any ounce of confidence he had in him, he turned round to face Julian, the operatives, Will and Detective Ashford...

"Are you?" Shaun asked them. Then without warning, he took two rapid strides and hurtled himself into the vortex.

"Wait, Shaun...dammit!" Julian exclaimed; Matthews, who was anchoring the slack on the wire hadn't had time to secure it. The entire team lost their footing and began to slide toward the portal's gaping maw, taking down Ashford with them.

Just when it appeared they were all lost, the wire went taut with a loud twang and they tipped backward onto their arses. Clinging to the line, checking it for Shaun's weight at the other end, Julian stood to his feet and saw Will's ghost at the rear of the line, holding the entire harness system in place with his decrepit index finger.

"Thank me later," the spirit dead-panned.


	25. Echoes

**DISCLAIMER: Do you care that Simon Pegg used to be in a breakdancing group called the Galaxians? Do you care that Edgar Wright has a somewhat strange fascination with the keyboard player from Wet Wet Wet? Do you care that I do not own the rights to any _Shaun of the Dead_ characters, and that said rights actually belong to the aforementioned Simon Pegg and Edgar Wright? Yeah, I thought not. Anyway, on with the story…**

It was cold. Extremely cold. The moment Shaun's body crossed the threshold, the temperature around him seemed to drop forty, even fifty degrees. He struggled to keep his eyes open; there was a weight on his eyelids, like being underwater, only there was no water. He could breathe, but the pressure was like a sustained punch to the chest that didn't end. Sara, he had to find Sara.

And then he blacked out, and it began...

Outside the portal, meanwhile, the rescue team scuttled around Room 34, securing the mooring of the line to the floorboards. Several Council agents held onto the line tensely, waiting for Shaun's signal. Julian shoved his hands into his pockets and paced the room, while Will's ghost leaned against the bathroom doorway.

"Do you think they'll be okay?" Detective Ashford inquired from a corner, trying to keep out of harm's way.

"Yes, I'm sure they'll be happy to answer any and all of your questions, detective," Julian replied sarcastically, "just as soon as they return to this plane of existence."

"I was just asking. No need to get tetchy," she muttered.

"Could you at least walk in a figure-eight, Westie?" Will sighed. "The back and forth is getting tedious."

"Oh... I'm _terribly _sorry to inconvenience you," Julian snapped. "Maybe I should pop on over to the hell dimension and see what the hold-up is."

"Look, I know you're concerned…"

"Concerned? I'm bloody terrified!And don't try to upstage me with some sage advice about what you'd do in this situation, because you've never _been _in this situation."

"That is true. But that's the nature of this job. Not everything is in the handbook, Westie. Sometimes you've simply got to have faith."

When the darkness cleared, Shaun was looking up into a window full of sunshine, its warmth on his face a comfort from the freezing cold of...wherever he was. He didn't want to think about it. Blinking his eyes, he squinted at the silhouette of...an elephant? Unconsciously, he reached up toward it; his arms were short, chubby and uncoordinated. It took him another moment still to realize this was a memory - he was a baby, at home in his cot, reaching out for the powder-blue elephant on his zoo mobile. Suddenly two friendly faces appeared over the rails of the cot: Barbara, much younger, in big hoop earrings with her long hair falling over one shoulder. And...though he heard his infant self gurgle contentedly, inside he gasped at the sight of a pair of ginger sideburns.

"...Dad?" he thought. Right then just as the memory had began, he was whisked away from it, a shiver coursing through his body as he found himself in a still-sunlit but much colder and grimmer surrounding. He was still small, but on his feet, standing beside his mum. Looking up at her tear-streaked face, the gold pendant Dad had given her glistening at the neckline of her dress. Her black dress. He peered over his shoulder at a room full of ashen-faced, black-clad mourners, and with wobbly legs and his mother's reassuring hand on his shoulder, he walked toward a coffin he still did not want to look inside. Fear paralyzed him where he stood.

"I don't want to, Mum," his small voice whispered. "Please."

"Really, Shaun," said the voice...not Barbara's voice. A horrible, bewitched, evil voice.

"You _must _be more adult about these things."

Back in the darkness, there was a pulse of spectral light and Shaun reached out into the ether. "Where is she!" he shouted. The voice laughed at him as he fumbled his way into nothingness, without a compass, nothing to lead him to the only thing sustaining his will to carry on.

Her.

"Sara!" Shaun called - and suddenly he was violently swept off his feet, the wind knocked out of him as he felt his head slam face-first against concrete pavement. As the pain rocketed through his skull, he heard a familiar laugh erupt from a few feet away and the sound of his skateboard rolling off into the distance of another memory.

"I _told _you you couldn't do it!" said Ed. Ten-year-old Ed, in a blue anorak and a _Tron _t-shirt, who suddenly appeared standing over him, still cackling and pointing. "What a tit."

"Help me up!" his young voice pleaded. He struggled to his feet and a strange, warm sensation began to trickle down over his right eye.

"That was wicked, though. Oi, Shaun - you're bleeding!" And no sooner had Ed spoken than Shaun's memories shifted again...

"I'm bleeding!" he shouted. His trainers pounded the grass in the garden as he ran for his life around his mother's hydrangeas, and Phillip hot on his heels with that fucking bit of wood. "Mum, I'm bleeding! He hit meeeeeeeee!"

"That's a lie, Barbara! No chocolate, no chocolate in the bloody car _ever_, do you hear me!" Phillip barked.

"Help!" young Shaun cried.

"Help!" his adult self echoed, suddenly feeling the onset of panic, his breath shortening and his mind racing with no idea where to go or what to do next.

"Giving up so soon?" the bewitched voice - he presumed it was Maggie - taunted. "Haven't you learned _anything_?"

At that, Shaun's body keeled forward and suddenly he was standing on the schoolyard. First year of secondary school. Fists clenched, staring down at his shoes, gathering the courage to walk across the yard to the old elm tree and approach a group of girls. Standing in the middle of the group, laughing, was Jennifer Hulme.

_Jennifer Hulme!_ - holy shit, he'd forgotten about her. He'd been mad about Jennifer, straw-gold hair and green eyes and...oh, balls. He _really _didn't want to relive this one again. One foot in front of the other, he felt like he was walking the plank of a pirate ship toward certain death; no sooner had he reached the tree than Jennifer and her three friends ceased giggling and were suddenly staring at him with blank faces.

"Uh...hi. J-j--Jennifer, I...um, right. I was wondering if...I mean, I thought that..."

They continued to gaze at him. Hazel-Jane Upton blew a huge bubble with her gum and it burst with a dull pop. Jennifer blinked, expectantly; she was _so _pretty.

"Maybe...after school, you...you want to..."

He couldn't. He didn't want to face that rejection again; somewhere deep inside, Shaun tried to fight the memory, to somehow help his smaller self grow a pair and change the outcome. Of course, there was no altering the past and he knew it, but he was beginning to tire of being toyed with by a pissed-off poltergeist. He was beginning to fight back. The memory was unchangeable, fair enough; still, in an effort to spit in Maggie's eye, Shaun shifted his focus onto something nicer.

"Christ...that's nice," said Shaun - age sixteen, pressed up against a stall in the girl's toilets during a school dance. Some electro-pop song pulsed from down the hall in the gym, but all he cared about was Caroline Reed blowing in his ear and being the first girl to put her hand down the front of his pants. He pushed his fingers into her short-cropped auburn hair and kissed her; she tasted like Black Jacks and cheap cider.

_No...no, he could do much better than this..._

Now he was in the dormitories at university, his head falling back against a pillow in a room with rose-pink walls that smelled faintly of incense. He had successfully convinced Natalie Dooley that skipping their philosophy lecture was a spectacular idea and now she was straddling him in her bikini knickers, about to take her top off.

_Oof, _that _was a good one. But...he could do better still..._

It was approaching midnight, but the Grecian sea breeze was still warm as he led Liz by the hand into a tiny alcove, far out of sight of anyone or anything. Her sun-kissed face glowed in the moonlight and she giggled; he brushed his knuckles against her cheek and his heart hammered like mad. He leaned in to kiss her...

_Better..._

Two, maybe three o'clock in the morning. In bed at the Eden River Inn. The room was absolutely still, save for Sara's two fingers which she absent-mindedly walked across his chest as they rested. Propped up on one pillow, she lifted her hand; he wanted to close his eyes but he couldn't take them off her. She traced the lines of his face and batted her long eyelashes, bit her lip and grinned like the Cheshire cat. He felt as though his heart were about to explode; Sara was alive. And she _did _love him. And that, he realized, was the happiest he'd ever been his life. Shaun suddenly cinched Sara's waist and rolled her over; she squealed and ran her hands down his back as he buried his face in her hair. Lavender and chamomile...

And just then, in the freezing shadows, it brushed his face. A long, silken length of hair that smelled of lavender and chamomile.

"Sara!" It was her, it had to be her...instinctively, Shaun reached out and latched on to a stiff, lifeless shape that felt vaguely as if it might be her...his suspicions confirmed when a horrible howl rang out around them and the vortex of light he'd leapt into moments - or was it hours? Days? - earlier began to spin out of control. He folded his arms about her and shielded Sara from the light; a horrible pain, like an electric shock amplified by the thousands, soared through his body. But he would not let go. He gritted his teeth and tried not to scream, but he held onto Sara tighter. And with all the strength left in him, Shaun reached down toward his waist and tugged on the rope.

"NOW!" Julian hollered. "Pull them back, now!"

Shaun was so ready. Where he expected he'd soon find himself in a heap, surrounded by strangers, still clinging to a gasping Sara...he suddenly found himself in a white hospital room. Like the one he'd been in at Council headquarters after Melanie had bitten him, when Sara rescued him the first time...only now, he was sat next to the bed and Sara was lying in it. Pale, with black circles under her eyes. She opened them and managed a faint smile.

"I didn't think I'd find you," Shaun said, taking her hand.

"I've been here all along," she murmured.

"Do you think you can move?"

She smiled weakly. "Are you asking me to dance?"

"Something like that."

"I thought you'd never ask." And before he could scream, sickly Sara morphed into demonic, veiny, hideous Sara/Maggie and she latched onto his neck, toppling him to the floor. He struggled to pry her fingers away but they were like talons, throttling him with an unnatural strength; the shivering cold returned, and the encroaching blackness erupted in a blinding flash of white.

With a final pull, Shaun and Sara emerged from the portal. Julian barked orders as Will looked on, mildly relieved that they weren't drenched in some sort of foul ectoplasmic goo. A few things were better left to the movies; they were, however, pale verging on blue and covered in what appeared to be frost. A few members of the medical team immediately focused their attention on Sara, as Shaun breathed shallowly and collapsed nearby.

Julian went to his side and placed his fingers on Shaun's neck. "He's got no pulse. We need a doctor now!" he snapped, and the rest of the medical team dashed in and began to work.

Nothing. Shaun was in his own clothes, at his own age; not a child, not a teenager. Nothing and no one was around him, just a blank white canvas against which he couldn't detect where a floor, walls or ceiling might start or end. A lot like the Construct in _The Matrix_, only somehow Shaun didn't think a rack of assault weapons was about to fly in out of nowhere. Slowly, cautiously, he turned around and saw Barbara standing behind him. Back in her cardigan, the way she'd been appearing to him all weekend long...only this time she wore the most sorrowful face he'd ever seen.

"Mum...Mum, what's wrong?" he asked, walking forth and embracing her. He sighed; "This is so hard, but I thought I had it cracked. I had Sara, I had her in my arms but...Anyway, I'm glad to see you."

And it was then that Barbara burst into tears, sobbing uncontrollably against Shaun's shoulder. "Oh, pickle," she replied..."Oh, I wish I could say the same."

Julian crossed to Sara. "She's still unresponsive," the Council doctor told him.

"Use the defibrillator again."

"We've already zapped her twice. I'm sorry, sir, she's gone."

Julian leaned down to her face. "Sara, listen to me…this isn't your time to go…not now." He blinked at her pallid face and lashed out at the doctor again. "Do you have any adrenaline?"

"Her heart wouldn't be able to take the shock, sir."

"Just give me the damn syringe!" he barked.

"Better not argue, Wallace," Will added from behind them.

The doctor reluctantly did as he was told and placed the syringe of adrenaline in Julian's hands. "After every last mental thing she's done to make my life miserable this weekend," he declared, marking the spot where he would have to make the injection, "there's no way she's going to die on me."

Julian inhaled deeply, steadied his arm and plunged the needle through Sara's ribcage. He pressed the release and the adrenaline surged through her heart; instantaneously, Sara's eyes sprung open and she gulped for breath, lurching off the floor.

"And I thought that only worked in the movies," Will opined. "Well done, West!"

Julian ignored the ghost, wincing as Sara shrieked and yanked the syringe from her own chest, shaking like a leaf. "Are you okay?"

"That…was trippy," Sara quavered.

"You had me worried there for a minute," Julian said, motioning to the doctors to check Sara's vitals. "How are you feeling? Do you remember anything?"

Sara shook her head, and immediately regretted the motion as the searing pain of her prior head injury coursed through her body. "I blacked out when my head met the patio," she explained. "What happened?"

"Evie opened a portal. The other ghosts shoved Maggie through, but not before she pulled you in. Shaun went in after you and he brought you back."

"Shaun…where is he!" She moved forward and then stopped; Julian failed to meet her gaze and his blank look made her stomach sink like a stone.

"After he came back, he went into cardiac arrest. The doctors are doing their best, but…"

Shoving one of the Council doctors aside and tearing the pulse gauge cuff from around her arm, Sara leapt to her feet and pushed past Julian. She approached the spot where doctors had encircled Shaun's prostrate form on the floor. One of the doctors resignedly removed his stethoscope. "This one's gone."

"Oh, no," Sara insisted. "No, he's not gone. He can't be."

"We've done all we can."

"Defibrillator? A shot of adrenaline? You can't just let him die!"

"He's already dead, miss."

She wanted desperately to punch him in the face but settled for muscling him out of the way and kneeling beside Shaun. After a few fearful false-starts, she placed her hands on his face but felt no warmth. A sickening gut feeling wracked her body but Sara tried to hold it together. "Shaun…it's me. I know you can hear me. You need to come back now, okay?"

His chest didn't rise or fall, and his lifeless blue eyes fell vacant upon the ceiling. Gingerly, Sara reached forward and pushed the short little quiff of hair above his forehead to one side. "Hey, you still owe me a proper date, right?" she said, tears now streaming down her face. "If this is your way of getting out of it, it's not gonna' work…Shaun, please, it's not supposed to be like this…please, babe, don't leave me…"

For all the times she's apologized to him for putting him in the line of danger, all the times she'd warned him against getting himself killed...Sara thought she'd be ready for this. She was ready to die; that was part of the job, she'd always been ready to die. She had just about begun to come to terms with the both of them dying, going out together in a blaze of glory as she thought they might have earlier with the zombies on the back lawn. But she wasn't ready for this...she was absolutely not ready to be left behind.

Julian tried to place a hand on her shoulder. "Sara, it's no use."

"Don't say that!" she snapped, shaking off his hand violently. Desperate, Sara began doing chest compressions. "Come on, baby, breathe," she pleaded. She smoothed his tousled hair back, kissed his cheeks, continued performing CPR with no response. "Damn it, Shaun, you promised you wouldn't leave me! Now breathe!"

"Sara...Sara, please..." Julian was insistent, forcefully wrapping his arms around her waist; in the shadows, Will briefly considered using an extraordinary power to pry her away but his heart wasn't in it, and misted through the wardrobe out of the room.

"Oh, God...God, no..." Sara cried as Julian had to drag her away limp, racked with sobs. When she finally found her feet, she buried her face in his shirt. The doctor looked to Julian for guidance, and he nodded slowly. A sheet was placed over Shaun's body and everyone grew silent.

"Please don't do that," Sara asked, her voice muffled against Julian's chest. "Not yet."

"We need to get you out of here" her handler whispered. "Let them do their job, Sara..."

"I will, Jules," she sniffled, swallowing hard as her hands brusquely wiped at her eyes. "I will. But can I have a moment alone with him first?" Her bloodshot eyes pleaded with him. "Just a few minutes. Please?"

Julian regarded her with concern, then confident that she would be able to manage he nodded his approval. At long last, Detective Ashford moved from where she'd been observing the scene and crying in the corner and began to herd everyone out of the room. Julian kissed Sara on the top of her head and squeezed her shoulder reassuringly as he followed the last of them out and closed the door behind him.

It was quiet. Completely quiet and utterly still; Sara startled at the sound of her own footsteps as she approached the covered body on the floor. Kneeling again, she took the sheet between her thumb and forefinger and pulled it back slowly, letting out an anguished bawl as she looked down on his face again. With an unsteady hand, she reached forward and closed his eyes, then shuffled forward, lifted his head off the carpet and placed it in her lap. Her tears dotted his shirt as she stroked his temple and rocked back and forth.

"I don't know what I'm going to do without you," she spoke at last. "I don't know if I want to do this anymore, I don't know...anything. I still don't think it was supposed to be like this. But, uh...I just wanted to say thank you, Shaun. Thank you for my life. And...I'm sorry I...couldn't give you the same." Sara wept uncontrollably now, tired of trying to put on a brave face. "I'm so sorry I let you down, Shaun," she cried. "I'm sorry for everything. I'm so sorry..."

She repeated it again and again, more times than she cared to count. Until at last, there was only one more thing to say.

"I love you, Shaun." She didn't want to leave his side, but she knew she had to; gently resting his head back on the floor, Sara leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on his cold lips.

And then it happened.

For what seemed like hours, Shaun had been trying to get Barbara to calm down long enough to tell him what was going on. He couldn't get her to stop crying.

"For God's sake, Mum, will you please..." Before he could finish his sentence - something, someone, he had no idea what lurched into the space behind him and pulled him violently out of Barbara's arms. His mother gasped, reaching out to him as he was yanked off his feet, up into the air and through a burst of light that expanded above them and was gone again in seconds.

Barbara covered her mouth with the hands - it was all very frightening and sudden - but within moments heaved a huge sigh of relief. "Oh, _thank God _for that..."

The unearthly roar and shaking of the earth that surrounded the entire grounds of the hotel - startling the guests and police outside, knocking the rambling zombies on the lawn off their decayed feet, and sending everyone still inside the hotel hurtling into the walls and furniture - was frightening and sudden, as well. Julian toppled over into Detective Ashford and a line of lieutenants and Council operatives, and they fell like a stack of dominoes onto the hall carpet. Clambering up and looking behind them, a blinding white light had emerged from Room 34 and blew the already-battered door clean off its hinges.

Inside, Sara spluttered and struggled to sit up, a sharp pain in her shoulder where it had slammed against a med kit on the floor. She tried to open her eyes but the heat from the column of light before her was too strong; she covered her face with her arm and tried to inch forward to where the strange energy had erupted and caused Shaun's lifeless body to lurch off the floor. But before she could make another move, the column surged back into his body as quickly as it had appeared, and Room 34 returned to its earlier dark, eerie stillness.

A stillness broken only by the sound of a man coughing and gasping for breath.

"Shaun?" Sara whispered. No. Fucking. Way.

Julian, Ashford and the others beat a path down the hall and their faces appeared in the doorway. "Sara!" Julian yelped.

"Shaun!" she replied. Helping him up off the ground, cradling his shivering body in her arms, Sara began to laugh. The others remained where they stood, stunned by what they saw...but Sara simply laughed, and laughed, and laughed until she couldn't laugh anymore.

Actually, until Shaun buried his face in her neck and said, "Stop laughing at me, you joey."


	26. Come Home

**DISCLAIMER: I have to apologize in advance for the length of this chapter. If you've learned anything about me from these stories, it's that I love to write dialogue. Or as my master Joss Whedon says, I like to make with the yak-yak. So I hope you don't mind indulging my love of banter just once more. We're almost done, folks…**

Julian knocked on the open doorway of the examining room as a doctor removed a blood pressure monitor from around Shaun's arm. "Well, what's the verdict, Doctor Dwyer?"

"He'll live," she said, her sparkling blue eyes smiling at Shaun. "I'd say our Mr. Riley is as fit as a Farogee."

"Is that…good?" Shaun asked, hesitantly.

"It's very good," Julian replied.

"Just remember to rest, drink plenty of fluids," Dr. Dwyer advised, "Non-alcoholic, preferably, and we'll see you in a week for your check-up."

"Thanks, doc."

Julian stood aside to let the doctor exit and entered the room. "So…how does it feel to be the hero of the hour?"

"Bit headache-y," Shaun answered, lightly massaging the base of his skull. "How's Sara?"

"She's fine. Since she was released from the hospital yesterday, she's the new pet project for the Parapsychology Department. Once they learned she'd actually been possessed by a spiritual entity, they couldn't wait to poke and prod her." Shaun looked taken aback. "In a strictly scientific sense," Julian clarified. "At any rate, she's a bit beaten and battered but she'll survive. As she always does."

"Except for when she's crashing in a remote part of the Alps."

"Yes, well, circumstances dictated. I'm sure you understand."

"Of course," Shaun said.

"Mr. Riley, given your contribution in this past weekend's events, I would be remiss not to offer an…extension of your provisional operative status."

"You want to offer me a job?" he scoffed.

"It's certainly not an easy life, I don't recommend it. But you've shown you have the potential."

Shaun rubbed his arm and considered the possibility he'd pondered before. Maybe this was what he was meant to do, all his life…and he'd be doing it with her. Still, it didn't seem like something he should jump into lightly.

"You know, I'm really flattered by the offer, Julian. And I don't want to say no absolutely, but for right now…I just think I should take a break from the undead for a while. Y'know, I've got Ed to go back home to and he can be a handful all on his own."

"That's understandable. But you do have the Council's utmost gratitude."

"What about a paycheck?"

"You'll have to discuss that with Payroll."

"Ah, I see." There was an uncomfortable silence, and Shaun decided to give it a shot. "West, one more question about what happened at the inn…"

"Only _one_ question?"

"I know, right? Look, when I saw the ghost of my Mum at the inn, she was…unharmed. Like she'd never been bitten by a zombie and I'd never shot her. But when Sara and I saw Will…he wasn't pretty."

"Well, in some cultures, it's believed that the method of death affects one's appearance in the afterlife. Your mother's non-decaying appearance could be attributed to the fact that she was killed by someone who loved her and didn't want her to suffer. Unlike Will."

"So…she's okay?"

"I'd say she's doing just fine now. Thanks to you."

"Good. That's…that's good." Shaun stood to his feet, feeling much stronger than he had just moments before.

"Oh, and if you happen to be looking for Sara, there's a definite possibility that you'll find her in Conference Room 2 on the third floor. Having a sit-down with Simmonds so if she's in a bad mood, you'll know why."

"Thanks, Jules." He nodded at the handler, and began to walk past him toward the door. Suddenly, Julian was taken off guard as Shaun spun round on one heel and threw his arms around him in a massive hug. Bewildered, but only for a moment, Julian grinned in spite of himself and patted Shaun on the back.

Sunlight flooded into the conference room as Michael sat at the head of the large rectangular table and intently stared at a stack of papers. Sara sat in the chair to his left and nervously tapped a pen against the table's surface, ceasing abruptly when she received a reproachful look from Michael. It had been several months since she'd been in this room, in his presence, and she'd forgotten how very small and intimidating it could feel.

"Well," Michael began cheerfully, "I'm afraid our legal options are rather limited. The Velkor demon which was responsible for three of the deaths is dead, the malevolent spirit which caused the other deaths has been contained, the death of the reanimate workers at the inn can be argued as self-defense, and…we all know what happened to Pru."

Sara looked self-consciously at her hands. The Council had absolved her of any wrongdoing in Pru's death, but she couldn't help feeling somewhat responsible. "What about Evie?" she asked, looking for a change of subject.

"Miss Fairfax will be compensated for the damage to her inn."

"I beg your pardon?"

"She's a fragile woman who made a most unfortunate mistake and who is now suffering a very serious case of post-traumatic stress disorder. No judge at the Old Bailey would find fault with her."

"I don't believe this," Sara gasped. "She _caused_ all of this, she almost got us killed, and she gets off with a slap on the wrist? No, not even that. And then she gets a sizable deposit in her bank account?"

"The Council has already ruled on this matter."

"It's bollocks, Michael, and you know it. If we were in the States…"

"If we were in the States, you would have been dishonorably discharged for dereliction of duty, involving a civilian in an official investigation, and assaulting a superior," he stated flatly. "Of course, these are all mere allegations. You can deny them, if you like."

She glanced at him sheepishly. "Would it help?"

"Not in the least." He closed the file with finality. "Sara, I am not averse to unorthodox methods when they get the job done. But the risks you've been taking continually outweigh the gains that you've made. I've been called upon time and again to go to bat for you, you went through five handlers in as many months, and God knows how many enemies Will Collins made in his persistent efforts to defend you."

"If you're firing me, just say so," she pouted. "Send me off to the old Slayers' retirement home in Tuscany."

"Sadly, no," he replied, with a heavy sigh. "This sacred calling of yours tends to be a 'till death do us part' contract. And Julian, for reasons I have yet to comprehend, wishes to continue as your handler."

"I foresee a 'but' in that sentence…"

"But in future, when you are on a mission, you will do things by the book, you will proceed with caution, and you will not destroy any historic properties unless it is absolutely necessary. Is that clear?"

"Clear as vodka. I mean, yes…sir."

"So feel free to take a few days, talk to Daisy about finding some new accommodations. In the meantime, we've booked you a room at the Regency Park. Get some rest, and we'll see you back here bright and early on Thursday night, Miss Cross. Raid on a vamp nest in Camden; we can use the back-up."

"Sorry…'Miss Cross'? I thought I was still 'Helen' within these walls."

"Oh, didn't I tell you? We've worked out everything with the Russians. Turns out the Geldfuhrung you killed had been embezzling large amounts of money into his own Swiss bank account. In their opinion, you did them a favor. Thus, they've called off the contract on your life. We'll straighten out your paperwork and let everyone around here know about the change, but in the meantime…congratulations."

"Wait, what about all my friends and family that you sent cold and impersonal form letters to regarding my oh-so-sudden and tragic death?"

"Already taken care of," he assured, waving his hand dismissively. "The letters go out tomorrow morning, saying you were miraculously found alive at a nunnery in Bavaria with a slight case of amnesia."

"A nunnery?"

"Our Lady of Intermittent Sorrows. Not a terribly picturesque place, but on Thursday nights, they do a wonderful pepper steak."

"Well, that figures. The one time I get a good passport photo, I have to trade it in."

He stood up from the table, crossed and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Welcome back, Sara."

She sighed heavily, then looked up at Simmonds – still a stiff, but a likeable stiff sometimes – and smiled. "It's good to be back. So no more postings to Outer Mongolia then?"

"I would consider allowing you to stay in London, but I'm not sure if you would be more or less likely to get into trouble if you knew I was close by," he stated.

"I know you _pretend_ to be ashamed of me, Michael…"

"No, that's quite genuine."

After parting ways with Simmonds, Sara strolled through the Council halls toward the library and was stopped short by a familiar voice from a conference room off the hallway. She peeked inside the doorway and saw a figure cross its arms and glare at the sterile walls and art deco furniture.

"Just look at what they've done. This is my office," Will's ghost complained.

"It _was_ your office, sunshine," she reminded, walking to stand beside him. "I know you prefer oak shelves lined with musty books, but they had to do a bit of redecorating after the whole business with Sakkari."

Will sighed resignedly. "I still don't like it."

"Feel free to go back and haunt the halls of the Eden River Inn if you want."

"Oh, no thanks. Had enough of that place to last me an entire afterlife." He reclined casually into a nearby chair. "Everything go well with Director Simmonds?"

"Surprisingly well. You know how he's usually condescending and aloof, but today he was just…aloof."

"I think he's finally warming up to you."

"I think you might be right." She perched on the edge of the table beside him. "I wasn't sure if I'd see you again."

"Well, I'm like a bad penny. I always turn up."

"So…care to give me an explanation?"

"Of what?"

"Oh, the little matter of Shaun being pronounced dead, bright flash of light, and bang, he's alive again?"

"Oh, _that_. You see, when Shaun risked his life to save yours, his selfless act broke Maggie's curse."

"How's that?"

"Because it contradicted her vengeance. He set an example of a man making the ultimate sacrifice for the woman he loves." Will grimaced at the thought of it. "Sickeningly syrupy, if you ask me, but there you have it."

"So he died to save me?" she asked, her eyes wide. All her limbs began to tingle, and she felt frightened and overwhelmed with emotion all at once.

"I'm not sure why you're surprised. He's rather made a habit of putting his life on the line for you."

"Maybe, but he shouldn't have to. Risking life and limb is in _my_ job description, not his."

"Don't you think that's up to him?"

She shook her head and cast her eyes downward. "I don't deserve that kind of devotion."

"I would argue that Shaun doesn't, either, but that hasn't stopped you for a second." He picked a flower from the table's centerpiece and began removing its petals. "And it might make a nice change if you'd fall for someone who wasn't destined to break your heart."

"You're forgetting Shaun _already_ broke my heart with the whole Emma thing."

"In fairness, he did think you were dead at the time."

"Details, details."

"But he doesn't seem the kind of man to make the same mistake twice," he said, handing her the petal-less flower. "You should probably give him the benefit of the doubt."

"Well…" she sighed, twirling the flower in her fingers. "He did tell me I had a textbook arse."

"Encyclopedia Britannica, maybe," Will muttered, at which Sara delivered a swift kick to his shin. "Ow! At any rate, my dear Sara, there aren't many men in this world willing to put up with your particular quirks and eccentricities."

"You did," she observed.

"I was _paid_ to do so. Shaun's volunteering for the job. For that alone, the man deserves a medal. Or at least a sizable portion of hazard pay." He got up and walked to the door. "Time for me to be going, I think."

"What? Why? Where?"

"Three very good questions. But you already know the answers. You don't need me anymore, Sara."

"No," she protested, rushing to block the door. "Of course I need you. How am I supposed to do this without you?"

"You'll be fine."

She looked into his eyes and there was still warmth in them, despite his corpse-like nature. The full weight of how much she'd missed him seemed to hit her all at once. It had been so good to have him by her side again; it was safe, familiar. "I'm never going to see you again, am I?"

"Oh, don't be so melodramatic. I'll always be here," he said, touching her forehead, "whenever you need me."

Without a word, she threw her arms around the apparition and squeezed tightly.

"Hey, I thought you weren't going to hug me," he protested.

"I changed my mind."

He stroked her hair with his grey, decaying hand. "Well, don't take this the wrong way, Sara, but I hope I don't see you for a long time."

"Yeah, me too." They separated, shared a smile before she watched him walk off down the hallway.

Suddenly, Nicola appeared at her side and made Sara jump. "Oi, oi, you lucky slayer! Comin' down the pub tonight? Julian owes me a number of rounds and I _fully_ intend to collect."

"I dunno…"

"But the guy from the comic shop's going to be there, the one I told you about. He has some weird Welsh name, Ioan something. But he's really cute and nice…"

"Oh, Nic, I'm exhausted. I think I'm going to go to the hotel, take a shower and sleep for a month. But I do appreciate the invite."

"Ah, well, I tried," Nic sighed. "All for nought, anyway. It's like you're genetically predisposed to only have relationships with men who work for the Council."

"Am not."

"Are, too. Grayson, Will, Shaun…"

"Will? Please! I'd hardly call one drunken night in Barcelona a relationship."

Nic cocked an eyebrow. "Actually I was referring to your professional relationship, the fact that you two worked together so well for so many years."

"Oh," Sara blushed.

"But go on, I'm intrigued. Some Spanish moonlight, massive amounts of Sangria, and then what?"

"Y'know, forget I said anything. Forget that you know me, forget that you speak English…"

At that moment, Shaun appeared in the doorway and got the distinct feeling he was interrupting an important conversation. "Hey! I was just leaving the hospital. Julian told me I could find you here."

Nic threw an inquisitive glance at Sara. "I know you like to play rough, hon, but did you have to put the boy in the hospital?"

Sara rolled her eyes and tilted her head toward the bespectacled librarian. "Shaun, this is Nicola. She's our Council archivist, and she pretends to be my friend."

"Pleasure to meet you," Shaun greeted, offering his hand.

"Likewise. Well, I'll leave you two alone." Nic paused to silently mouth the word "Cute!" over Shaun's shoulder before moving on down the hallway.

Sara approached Shaun and placed her hand on his chest. "All systems go? Dr. Dwyer gave you the all-clear?"

"Yep. She says I'm fit as a Farogee….whatever that means."

"That's really good. You on your way out?"

"I dunno, I hear there's some good poking and prodding to be had in the Parapsychology Department."

"That is my own special brand of fun, and you are not invited. However, I can walk you to the door." She took his hand and interlaced her fingers with his, starting off down the hallway.

"So, Miss Wellesley, what did Michael have to say?"

"Oh, the usual stern admonitions. Apparently, I'm expected to behave myself from now on."

"Well, that is unfortunate."

"Yeah, I know. Anyway, the Velkor demon's dead, Maggie's spirit has been contained, and Evelyn is in for a very large therapy bill."

"Just another day at the office then?"

"Pretty much. And by the way, I'm Sara again."

Shaun stopped short and did a double take. "Sara …_didn't_ die in a plane crash?"

"No, actually Sara was in a Bavarian nunnery with a slight case of amnesia."

"Bavaria. Niiiiice. I spent a very eventful fortnight there once. Bloody Hefeweizen."

"Lush."

"So why the resurrection?"

"Apparently Michael straightened everything out with the Russians and they called off the hit. So I'm back."

"Excellent," he replied. Then he seemed to digest what that might mean, and glanced up at her hopefully. "Back…to stay? Here in London?"

"If I'm given the option, yeah."

His eyebrow twitched and he leaned in closer. "So what does that mean for us?"

"I think…it's just…I'm not that good at…"

"Completing sentences?"

"_No!_ I just…I dunno. I'm kind of still processing what happened. I mean, you died to save me."

He blushed, looked away and attempted to brush off the honorability. "I had to do what I had to do. I had to do what was right."

"Shaun…"

"Sara…" He cornered her against the ebony paneling on the walls, cupping her face in his hands. "I can't survive without you."

"But you shouldn't be here, you have a life. A life _mostly_ free of unconditioned zombies and vengeance demons."

"Yeah, and I know you think that means we can't be together. But can't you respect me enough to let me make my own decisions? I know there'll be risks, but I want to face them with you. It's wrong that we should only be half-alive, half of ourselves. _I love you_. So here I am standing in your doorway. I've always been standing in your doorway. Isn't it about time someone saved your life? Well…say something."

"Thank you, Shaun Riley."

He smiled, then furrowed his brow in thought. "Did we just re-enact the last scene of _Spiderman 2_?"

"Yeah, that was weird." Sara replied.

Shaun's eyebrow twitched. "And yet…"

"Totally hot." Sara reached forward and grabbed a handful of his shirt, slung her other arm around Shaun's neck and snogged him like her life depended on it. She wasn't entirely sure it didn't, to be honest. They kissed for what seemed like ages; off at the far end of the hallway, unseen, Nic poked her head out of her office door and giggled.

"It's a good thing… we found each other," Shaun finally replied, between kisses. "Saves someone else the trouble of dealing with our _ohh, bloody hell_…" He lost his train of thought as Sara scored his earlobe with her teeth.

"I pulled a button off your shirt," she purred.

"I really don't care," Shaun laughed. "D'you want another one? Take another one."

Sara stuffed the button into her jeans pocket, then slid her hand up his back and placed her head on his chest. "So…what's the plan, MJ?"

"Oh, bollocks, do we need one?" he asked. "I figured we'd just play it by ear."

She looked up at him, quizzically. "Things don't go very well when we improvise, Shaun."

"We're both still here, aren't we?"

"For the time being, thankfully. You're headed back to the old job tomorrow, huh?"

"Looks like. Although, honestly, I could use a holiday," he sighed. "We should go to Brighton."

"_Brighton?_"

"Yeah, come on. You and me by the seaside. No vampires, no ghosts, no demons. Just fish and chips on the pier and you can ride the carousel as many times as you want."

"That is really, _really_ tempting." She sighed and looked away. "But I can't. I've got a mountain of paperwork, and…you need time."

"Time for what?"

"Time to deal with Emma's death, to heal your wounds, to do whatever you need to do. I'll only complicate things."

"You're never a complication."

"You said it yourself, Shaun. Cataclysmic disasters and I go hand in hand."

He chuckled dismissively. "I didn't mean it."

"You did, and you were right. Look, Pru said something to me. Actually, Pru said a lot of things to me, but there was this one thing. She mentioned my habit of moving on because I don't want to face the people I've disappointed. And she was right. I don't want to be a disappointment to you."

"How could you think that?"

"All those months ago, when I walked away from you…I let you down."

"No, not at all. Well…okay, maybe a little. But hey, I got over it."

"No, you didn't. Can you honestly tell me that every time I walked out that door, every time I didn't come home at night or I didn't call you, that your mind wouldn't jump to the same conclusion that it did when I got on that plane to Hungary?"

"So what are you saying?"

"I'm saying that until you can trust me again, until I can trust myself, this potential relationship is gonna' crash and burn before it even gets off the ground."

"But if we both have our seats in an upright and locked position, and we use our seat cushions as flotation devices, and we breathe from the little oxygen masks that come down from the ceiling…"

"How much further do you plan to stretch this metaphor?" she asked.

"I was gonna' try to work in something about the beverage cart hitting your shoulder when it comes down the aisle."

"Ah, I see."

"Look, I dunno what I'm saying, I'm just…I don't want to lose you again."

"Shaun, trust me, take care of things…and I'm not going anywhere." She pulled him into one last, lingering kiss. "I promised, didn't I?"

"Yeah," he replied, breathlessly.

Sara hugged him tightly, then started to walk away, then stopped. "Oh, Shaun?"

"Yeah?"

"When I get my new digs, I'll probably be needing a toaster. Think you can hook me up?"

"Consider yourself hooked. Up."

"Cool. But don't think that means I'll sleep with you."

"What if I throw in a flat-screen TV?" he attempted. "Car stereo? Subzero freezer?"

"I'm strangely aroused."

"I thought you might be."

"However, I should really go before Michael decides to kill me off again. Take care of yourself. I'll see you _soon_, okay?"

"Not if I see you first." And with that, Sara started to walk away. She felt Shaun's presence, as if he were fighting the urge to follow her, and she resisted the same. But she thumbed his shirt button in her pocket the whole time.


	27. Epilogue

**DISCLAIMER: It's not finished…it's finished. This has been an exhausting but nonetheless fulfilling experience. And hasn't completely dissuaded me from contemplating a third story. No promises, though.**

**Thanks for reading, thanks for reviewing, and thanks for sticking with me even when I had no idea where I was going. Major props to my co-writer, Nic, for her literary contributions. I'm pretty sure I owe her a gift basket. Or several pints of Stella.**

_Six months later…_

"I'm really happy for you, Liz," Shaun said. Surprising even himself by the degree to which he genuinely meant it. "He's a good fella. I mean…well, he's not a _goodfella_. At least I think he's not."

"No, Shaun, he's not," Liz grinned, folding her arms and wincing. She looked lovely in her wedding dress, but the bodice seemed to be making her miserable.

"I mean, you know…there are a lot of Italians in Australia. Anthony LaPaglia, he's one. I mean, he's not….but you know, his accent is so convinc…."

"Not. Shaun."

"Didn't think so," Shaun replied, shaking his head.

"So when are we going to see you at the end of the aisle in a tux?" she inquired.

"Uhh, my funeral?" he offered. "Oh, here she comes!…" He tried not to show his relief when they saw a striking brunette in a red dress approaching with a plate. "Liz, allow me to introduce my girlfriend, Sara Cross. Sara, this is Liz."

"So nice to meet you!" Sara grinned, hoping she sounded sincere and not gushing for the sake of it.

"Likewise, I've heard so much about you. Only I could have sworn Shaun told me your name was Emma."

"Uh…" Sara looked up at Shaun for a direction.

"Noooo…no. No! Pssht!" Shaun tried to look nonplussed. "No. I definitely said Sara. See, you're just so damn happyyyyy…" – he poked Liz's arm – "you're hearing things. Yeah. This is Sara! My girlfriend. Sara."

"Aaaanyway," Sara smiled, tucking her hair behind her ear. "You've only heard good things, I hope."

"Oh, of course. So what is it that you do?"

"I manage a video store," she replied. "The pay's crap, but the free movies are nice." Sara struggled for other suitable subjects of reception conversation. "The wedding was lovely. I know I can't get enough of Pachelbel's Canon. I mean, you worry that it's a bit cliché, everyone's doing it, but that's not necessarily a bad thing. And you…you look beautiful."

"Oh, thank you! I had to absolutely starve myself to fit into this dress. And the bridesmaids were all complaining about the lilac palette, but I think it goes really well with everyone's skin tone. Especially Dianne. I mean, doesn't she look gorgeous, Shaun?"

"Yes, absolutely," he assured. Dianne did look nice. More tan, less orange...

Liz reached out and grabbed Sara's wrist. "You and I should have lunch sometime. I can fill you in on all his dirty little secrets," she whispered conspiratorially.

"I can't wait."

Neil sauntered up behind the blushing bride suddenly, and with a giggle Liz waved goodbye and danced off again.

"Don't believe a word she says," Shaun insisted.

"Hey, I never asked what Grayson told you about me. Which, by the way, was all malicious lies."

"Well, I had a feeling that the bit about going undercover as a stripper in a Mexican demon bar was probably an exaggeration."

"Oh, yeah…yeah, that was completely untrue," she said, a little too quickly, and held up the plate for him. "Would you like to try some dessert?"

"Cake me, babe." He took a bite off the fork she held up to his mouth and grimaced as his taste buds processed it. "Oh, God. That's foul."

"I know," she agreed. "Who the hell thought almond poppy seed with strawberry was an acceptable cake flavor? I don't think Ed would even eat this." She set the plate down on a nearby table as if it were a biohazard. "Dude, you should see the cake. It looks like the bastard child of Martha Stewart and Liberace. And it probably cost more than either of us make in a week."

"I'd tend to agree."

"At our _respectable_ jobs, of course."

"Naturally."

Sara glanced at the beaming bride and groom as they danced, then back at Shaun. He looked just fine…he looked _better _than fine in that suit, actually. But she wondered if he wasn't still stinging a little. "How are you holding up?"

"Always a bit traumatic going to the wedding of an ex, isn't it?" he noted. "Still…be a lot worse if it weren't for being _sickeningly_ happy in my current relationship." He cast her a sideways wink and she squeezed his arm. "You?"

"Eh, I've been through worse," she smiled. "Free food, free booze, and a chance to see Liz drunk off her ass. It's actually turned out to be a good night. Plus I get to go home with the sexiest man in the room."

"Hang on, you think you can just feed me cake and I'll follow where you lead me?"

"It's worked before."

"This is true," he reluctantly acknowledged.

Suddenly, Sara's cell phone rang. She fished around in her handbag and answered. No sooner had she uttered "hello" than Shaun reached into his pocket and retrieved his own phone.

"Yes?" Then, the both of them, simultaneously…"I'm on my way."

Sara smiled and held out her hand. "Duty calls." Shaun took it and snaked her around the two tables laden with wedding gifts, winding her discreetly through an array of potted flora so as not to be spotted by Liz or anyone else.

"I never thought I'd actually welcome an apocalyptic emergency," Sara noted as they ran down the front steps of the reception hall.

"I thought you were enjoying yourself!"

"Shaun?" She stopped short on the pavement and gave him _that_ look.

"Yeah, I know. At least we got the call _before_ the DJ broke into the Spandau Ballet and Wet Wet Wet records," he mused. "Remind me to compliment Michael on his timing." They headed out to the parking lot and Shaun opened the boot of the car and did a quick weapons inventory before they headed to the Council for mission details.

"Not another weekender halfway between Nowhere and Fuck-All, Slovenia, I hope," he remarked, tossing Sara her trusty crossbow.

"Never can tell. Hey, can we stop by the flat first? I need to change into my slaying shoes."

"Oh, come on, you've worked a productive shift in stilettos before," he said, holding open the car door for her. "And I can't tell you how much I enjoy watching you. I really…" he sighed. "Can't."

Sara wrinkled her nose at him and slid into the seat. "That was back when I was trying to impress you. And frankly, I don't need another sprained ankle."

"Fair enough," he replied, closing the door and then crossing to the driver's side. He threw his jacket into the backseat and loosened his tie.

"Hey…maybe we can grab some Thai at the Shepherd's afterward?" she suggested, savoring the satisfying click as she loaded an arrow into the crossbow.

"Perfect, baby," Shaun said, firing up the car's ignition. "Perfect."


End file.
